Darker than Truth, Stronger than Night, Blood is Thicker than Black
by The Poarter
Summary: There was no denying that. He had failed to wake up by his own weakness. It was he how had refused to stop living in this nightmare. He just couldn't contemplate the idea of dying. To let Gehrman kill him would be against the his code. Refusing to die and choosing to die in the end. So here he was in this land called Thedas and at the Centre of it as the Herald of Andraste.
1. Prologue

**Darker than Truth, Stronger than Night, Blood is Thicker than Black**

 **Prologue:**

He was dying. There was no denying that. He had failed to wake up. But that was by his own weakness. It was he how had refused to stop living in this nightmare. He just couldn't contemplate the idea of dying. It felt so real, so true. To let Gehrman kill him would be against the testament of what he had been doing. Refusing to die and choosing to die in the end.

So Gehrman die. He killed him. Then that Blasted Moon Presence had appeared. That creature was neither man nor beast. It had acted cunningly for a beast, yet its onslaught, temptation and aggression was not that of a man.

It did to matter.

The Moon Presence had attacked him.

For that it died.

Fighting such a creature was a laborious task; however it was something which needed to be done for the very essence of survival. He did not want to die. He simply refused to die. It didn't matter if he dug the grave of a hundred men or a god. He would refuse to die. The Moon Presence seemed to have other ambitions. Believing that its own demise was inevitable, the creature had grabbed him and pulled it into himself. The void that would have been its abdomen was where he had been dragged to and cast into the darkness.

He was something that was taken with it to the unknown; something that was meant to die with it. Because it refused to be killed by a mortal.

Whatever the reason the Moon Presence had refused to let him win.

The Gods and Great Ones were truly as inconvenient and human as all mortals. They were as fallible and as human as he was so. Chastising mortals for flaws and weaknesses, while demonstrating the very same. When their lives were on the line they too fought in ways mortals died.

And like man and beast, they died like mortals; on their knees and terrified. This was Yharnam. The gods will not save you now. In the blackness of the void though, he remembered the last words before he left this world to the next.

 _Oh, Good Hunter_


	2. Chapter 1: Corypheus and Justina V

**Darker than Truth, Stronger Than Night, Blood is Thicker than Black**

 **Chapter 1: Corypheus and Justina V**

For what it was worth Cyrus Assad Strife, knew he was not dead. The question was if he was truly alive. He had found himself in lying on a cold-stone floor in an unknown room. For the Hunter, the unknown was what was truly horrifying. Understand the abyss and you no longer fear it.

Ignorance and arrogance were the most important flaws of people to him. It was why he had help Djura. Did he truly understand the beasts? Did they deserve to die? Assad did not know the answer to that. At the time he hadn't cared. Djura could have been dealt with at a later date. However if it had prevented immediate trouble and danger, he would not ignore it. Thus he had listened to Djura and simply left the man is.

He did not understand the situation as much as he would have liked to. As a result, he could not properly judge. It certainly did not mean that he would hunt down Beasts on a quest to find the cure to his ailment. The idea was pragmatism.

It doesn't matter if the Hound is old or young, so long as it caught foxes.

Assad had seen what morality and honor could do to people.

Looking around he noticed his weapons still with him. That was a small mercy. Apparently the Moon Presence had left him his weapons when it had dragged him into the void. That would have to do. He would need every single tool at his disposal to survive whatever traps that creature had in mind for him.

 _Oh Good, Hunter_

The question remained though. What was the meaning of the doll's words? Cyrus had been certain that those were the words that were spoken by the doll. His memory never failed him. The Imperial Service Exam was one of these prominent moments. The exam was brutal. Prior to his appearance in Yharnam it had been the most difficult experience in his entire life. For four days and three nights, boys such as himself were locked up in a small room and forced to answer thirty tests, each ten pages long.

At least it was for the boys who wished for a better life. Several poor boys couldn't make the trip to one of the core cities and missed out on the one chance to rise to the middle-class. The middle-class system was based around the idea that you wanted skilled workers who can provide you with services that would otherwise require time and energy to complete. Unfortunately, picking the appropriate people who could provide such services was incredibly difficult. Many people were frauds, others provide inaccurate service at the cost of the state, and other times you had important Noble-men who simply recommended their sons despite how incompetent they were. Corruption was rife.

Well it used to be. Cyrus personally thought it was much better now. After all, it was technically fair on paper. In fact the exam was so effective that it had survived four regime changes.

Strife picked up Ludwig's rifle, making sure that everything was still working. Guns were much harder and difficult to maintain, and were prone to jamming. However their advantages certainly outweighed their disadvantages. Targeting men and beast from a-far made it easier to kill them. It was an equalizer in Cyrus's opinion. They kept things afar, allowing Cyrus to pick off foes easily and with trained marksmanship.

Initially it had been very difficult for Assad to work with guns. He was a seventeen year old Surveyor, not a Gunsmith, but necessity was the mother of all inventions.

Every candidate who wished to remain or join the middle class, which made up a little less than five percent of society, had to do the Imperial Service exam. Any literate male who could prove that he was only fourteen, could take the test. It was the one test that decided the rest of your life. First-born sons of Nobles did not sit the exam because it was not necessary. For noble born boys, it was not a necessity, but it was desirable.

The reason why the Imperial Exam was desirable was because it proved that the Nobles had "earned" their place in society. To Assad that was a lie. Noble second and third sons had the distinct advantage of having eight or more years of personal tutoring from retired Imperial Civil Servants. For hours a day, they had people who tutored them, fed them proper food and spared no expense of practicalities. In education money could buy.

That didn't however prepare them for how depriving the exam could be sometimes. Locked in a dark room was nightmarish. The guards would initially stripe you down naked and force you to march. That's if you could prove you were fourteen and who you were. If you didn't have the proper passes most boys would get a beating. At best you were forced to leave in shame.

The guards would walk you down the hallway each assigning you to a cramped room. The only thing you were allowed to bring was your bedpans, water and food which you would have to prepare yourself. The rooms were cramped and windowless. No boy would feel the sun on their skin or the moon on their eyes for the next few days.

Your only companions were the candles and the pen you were given to complete the exams that would change your life.

In every room each boy was given a small ragged mat to lie down in bed each night after they had done all they could after each day. Each room also had a uniform for each boy to wear for their time of examination. The guards would patrol the hallways, making sure that you did not walk out of the hallway.

Doing so would be considered cheating and, as a result, an automatic failure. The guards would sometimes also barge into your rooms to look for anything you had tried to hide. It was why nobody tried to smuggle anything in. If they found anything you were automatically failed. No question asked. If you somehow spoke to the person in the room next to yours you automatically failed. If you spoke to loudly, you automatically failed. There was only meant to be silence in your room as you worked efficiently. You were an Imperial servant, a man of the middle class. That was how you were supposed to act.

In solitude: silence. In labor: efficiency. In Success: acceptance.

Locked, alone and with very little to relive yourself of the tension some boys committed suicide. They were considered expendable, people who were not fit for the pressures of middle-class life. Some noble boys attempted to bribe the guards for answers but like us, their pockets were also checked and any caught would be hanged. They too were prisoners of the system.

The stench of human waste in the humid cell was horrible. It made it difficult to concentrate. It made you nervous. The candle was all that showed the passage of time. We were like convicts, facing execution. The trial of our lives.

At least he had his Saw Cleaver with him. Albeit he did not have all his weapons. It seemed like Strife would have to make everything from scratch or find whatever weapons he could in this new world. Just like before. He was almost certain that whatever the Moon Presence had made sure to leave his disease with him. That or he would be cursed to a slow agonizing fate.

Or would fate have been so kind.

The sound of struggle and screams of pain echoed through the hallway, the moment Strife left the room. The sounds of screams, grunts of pains and pleading for mercy were all too common to his ears.

Cyrus however did not move. It would be foolish to go rushing into the room and finding him surrounded by hostile foes of unknown origins. It could be witches, werewolves or even the Moon Presence itself. Whatever it was, he had to be careful. The Cleaver and the Ludwig rifle would not have been his first preference in such a situation. In fact he would have preferred to know what he was fighting before he had even walked through the door.

Intelligence was what was important. Know your enemy and know yourself and you will never find yourself truly unsurprised. There was no such thing as a fair fight in Cyrus's opinion.

Only pragmatism.

Nevertheless the Cleaver would suffice for now. The Ludwig Rifle would be excellent if his enemies did not have the appropriate protection.

Cyrus silently shuffled through the hallway, the screams of the unfortunate becoming louder. He gripped his cleaver and rifle. Nevertheless it was paramount that he did not give his position away by firing it by accident.

While Cyrus was getting closer to the fighting he had no intention in being part of it. At the very most he would simply understand the occupants of this temple or castle and leave. However the door of the fortress made it incredibly difficult. He would have to walk past what was likely the main hall, before exiting. On the other hand there certainly was a chance that there was another way outside.

That was if the builders were wealthy or diligent enough to properly go through with such construction maneuvers. Most likely though, he would have gone through the fighting and that left several issues.

Once Cyrus was the appropriate distance he could easily make out some idea of what was going on.

Most of the screams had stopped. The fighting had also died down.

One side had won or all parties were dead. Furthermore there was a possibility that the winning party was going to go through door to door checks, making sure that there were no survivors. It was what most of the military would have done. That raised lots of other issues. He could wait, bid his time. Killing several of the agents involved might help him but sooner or later he would be overrun.

There was almost certainly an army out here. It would be impossible for him to win. There would certainly be no way to win. So that was it. He was meant to die here? Cyrus did not believe that. There was always a way to survive. Shaking his head, he returned to the room he found himself in previously.

All while ignoring the suffering of those just a few meters away from him.

The room he had found himself in was desolate. A few candles were scattered around the area. Otherwise there was nothing there. It seemed as if no one had lived in this location for years. Mold and dust gathered around the walls and floors, covering what was certainly carvings and paintings of some sorts.

He was in a religious building. How could he have not noticed this before? Cyprus mentally reminded himself that this was an unknown location and he had been thrust upon it without his own foreknowledge.

Nevertheless he continued to scan the room around him, hoping to find some clues. There was a window, above him but almost certainly out of reach for some reason. He investigated the walls of the room. Perhaps there were some ledges or holes or loose bricks he could use to escape. Certainly a building as old as this would have urban decay. Unfortunately his frustrating search had been a failure. The room itself was fairly used but in well-organized shape.

On one hand the bird droppings on the floor and the mold showed that it was improperly maintained. There was a pool of water leaking out the walls. Mites, spiders and flies made their home in this room. But there was no way he could escape. While the window had certainly been smashed to pieces with the glass littering the floor it seemed that the room was still intact. There was a hole in the ceiling, quite likely leading to another room, but Assad didn't want to risk it for two reasons.

The first reason was that it was crawling with insects, quite possible poisonous ones. It would be foolish attempt to climb through it with a proper plan. The second reason was that the ceiling itself was out of reach. While he did have his cleaver, his rifle and his clothing, that was all that seemed to be on his person. He did not have the necessary equipment to climb the hole.

From what he had gathered the room had probably been left to its own devices of eight or twelve years. Enough signs that the decay to set into the area, but not enough to totally remove the structures that made up this temple. If he had some rope he probably would have risked it.

At the moment he didn't.

Which left him with one option; fighting through what was the main room.

This was going to end horribly for all parties. Assad had maybe twenty or so silver bullets, and a saw cleaver. Strife also didn't have the appropriate protection as my clothing had gotten ripped in my fight with the Moon Presence. All in all, Strife was wholly unprepared.

Gliding to the hallway, Strife took a deep breath, remembering my life so far and asking one question.

What is my purpose?

I remember my childhood; my four sisters and older brother. Strife remember my father coming home from work and greeting my mother. Strife remember my mother lifting me up and carrying me home after Strife had gotten caned for misbehavior, assuring both herself and me that Strife wouldn't do it again. Strife remember the servants and children who Strife had grown up with. Strife remember the hours spent studying for the Imperial Service Exam. Strife remember studying for surveying and railway construction. Strife remember myself gaining the disease. Strife remember my time in the Yharnam. Strife remember the doll, Gehrman and all those beasts Strife faced.

I remember everything and will never forget it.

"What you're doing. You of all people!" exclaimed a woman in pain.

What is my purpose?

My purpose is to live to see my grandchildren have happy childhoods and get married.

That is my purpose.

"Keep the sacrifice still," ordered a second voice from the other room.

I remember never fighting for my life constantly before Yharnam. Let's hope they're unprepared for my arrival. Now though, fighting comes somewhat naturally to me. Strife take a deep breath …

… And kick open the door of the hallway.

Keeping my gun vertically perpendicular to my head Strife scan the room. All around me are people wearing suits of armor and metal shields. Their chests armor is symbolized by griffons and other magical creatures. Blue under-cloths and chainmail … was Strife in the past? Strife don't know.

What Strife do know is that my appearance had distracted them. Strife fire at one of the armored figures, letting the bullets rip through their bodies. My bloody and ripped crow-feather outfit scares them for an instant before they steel up once again. In the meantime Strife search for a door and find one guarded by two of the surprised guards. Strife would have made a dash for it weren't for one of the captives, an old woman in red robes, who used the opportunity to slap a green orb in my direction.

It was an action which would shake the very foundations of this new world. Whatever the orb was, it caused a shout of to come out of the creature that had been holding the old woman captive. It was a being that had the very basic image of what a human being should look like but it seemed as if it was made by a lazy sculptor.

All the proportions were wrong, and seemed to have given up on sculpturing the figure halfway through. The arms were thinner than what would reasonably expect with a body that seemed to be nothing but skin on bones. The face of the creature had a half hood of leather and various scales and red gems piercing out of the skin. No doubt the abomination had been cursed. The head was the right proportion but Cyrus couldn't help but feel that there was certainly something wrong with the way it was held in place.

Whatever the reason, it was done and now the abomination seemed motivated to stop him from picking up the Orb. Whatever it was the Orb was valuable. That meant it could be used as leverage which could be used as a way for him to get out of this siege.

"NO!" shouted the abomination who Strife would later learn to be Corypheus.

By then though, it was too late. He had picked up the orb, while readying and pointing my Ludwig rifle at him. If it moved a little closer, then he would shoot the abomination. Hopefully it would then die.

Alas though, this would not come to be. The moment Cyrus picked up the orb, pain surged through my left hand. The orb's green light pierced my very veins, digging itself deeper into my arm. Strife couldn't think for a few moments. All he could do was stand still in shock.

A flash of light engulfed the room sending shockwaves that pushed back everyone single person away from the orb.

So Cyrus ran.

Wherever Cyrus was, it certainly was not the castle or temple or fortress or whatever that place was before. No, Cyrus was in a twisted abomination of reality. The forces of nature and laws of man did not seem to exist here. That didn't matter. My pursuers might have been surprised by my actions and the consequences but Cyrus was not foolish enough to believe that they would not give chase.

So Assad ran.

My hopes would be that Assad would have found a way to escape my pursuers or gain enough distance from them. My body ached from the toil Strife had placed upon it before. That didn't stop me though. Pain was something Strife had dealt with. Once Assad had deemed myself safe Strife would have consider my options. While Assad was certainly away from my human opponents my presence here was attractive all kinds of creatures. Giant spiders, twisted humanoids and insectoids of deformed natures.

So Strife ran.

I certainly didn't have the hopes of being eaten and killed so sprinted as far away as Strife could. For nearly an hour Strife kept running non-stop, always, remaining ahead of my pursuers by a wide margin. While Strife was certainly remaining ahead of my pursuers Strife had no ideals that they would catch up with me. It seemed they were not bound by the laws of this realm as much as they were. Or maybe they were not bound by the same laws as mine. Whatever it was Strife was slowly getting tired.

It would be imminent that Strife find a safe place unless Strife wanted to die. Yet Strife couldn't see any location that Strife could cower under. Sweat dribble down my forehead and my neck. My palms itched and my fingers twitched. There was no way Strife was going to get out of this alive in the long term. While Strife was certain Strife could remain alive here for at least another day hunger, thirst and exhaustion would certainly catch up to me. There was no way out of this.

I scanned over the horizon. My pursuing monstrosities were kilometers away from me, yet Strife could not honestly say that it would remain that way for long. Over the cliff though, Strife could easily see a bright figure beckoning me to come towards it.

I had ignored it initially getting as far away from it as possible. Yet Strife found myself running out of options. Strife had led my hunters on a zigzag chase away from my initial starting point. Strife had fled into the mists of this realm. However Strife was not secure. My life was still in peril and that dammed woman seemed to be my only possibility of escaping this nightmare.

As Strife noticed before there were no corpses in this area, no way Strife could replenish my supplies. In fact Strife could easily say that my eighteen silver bullets and my saw cleaver would be the only thing that Strife would have at hand for the rest of my stay here. Strife needed a better weapon, better attire. Strife needed a lot of things if Strife wanted to stay here for duration.

Once again Strife cursed my lack of options and the idea that Strife would be forced to walk only one road. Assad dipped my head for a minute, letting myself catch my breath. It took longer than Strife expected but that was understandable. Strife had been running and fighting for a long time with little rest. Strife was exhausted. That didn't stop me though.

With that in mind Cyrus dashed to the bright woman whose beckoning was becoming even greater the closer Strife got to her. Clearly she had noticed that Strife was now listening to her. It might spell my death or it might be my only salvation. Whatever it was Strife sprinted to her, legs screaming in pain with Ludwig rifle in my right hand. My left hand had been aching with phantom pains for my duration of my stay here.

That didn't matter. Escaping alive was my greatest priority. My sprint seemed to have gotten the attention of the inhabitants of this realm who were also noticing my endeavor. They pursued my human figure, no doubt for an easy meal. Even if this turned out for a folly Strife refused to die here today.

Climbing the cliff wasn't not the greatest skill Assad had, yet it was only one Cyrus could use. It was time-consuming and problematic. In that few minutes those monstrosities slowly etched their way towards my person.

Not today.

I was just a few meters away from the woman. By now a fog had gathered around me, precipitation covered my hands as Strife taxed my bodies in ways it was not used to. Behind me the creatures followed in glee and ravish.

It didn't stop me. By the time the fingertips touched the woman's hands Strife could clearly see the bodies of the spiders that pursued me wanting a kill. Those abominations wanted to feast on my flesh. Cyrus wanted to craft weapons from their corpses and drink their blood.

It would be a tragedy for both parties and would have to wait another day.

The woman's fingertips touched mine, while Assad was still holding my rifle. In that instant there was a flash of light once again and Strife found myself in the world Strife had just escaped from; in destroyed ruins.

That didn't matter to me. Strife all Strife felt was pain and exhaustion. With that Strife slumped tiredly onto the ash floor.

The last sound Strife heard was shuffling of boots and their owners shouts of surprise and horror.

" _NO!"_


	3. Chapter 2: Cassandra and Leliana

**Darker than Truth, Thicker than Night, Blood is Stronger than Black**

 **Chapter 2: Cassandra and Leliana**

 _Eyes. Eyes. Eyes._

 _Screams. Screams. Screams. Screams. Screams._

 _Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood._

 _They say, they screech, they do._

 _We are born of the blood, Brought together by the Blood and we die by the blood; Undone by the blood._

 _Fear the Old Blood Assad._

 _Fear the Unknown._

 _So long as there was blood there was death and life. Blood enriches us all. It is the very liquid that keeps us alive. Blood could be used. It can be harnessed and it deserves to be worshipped._

 _Blood. What did the word mean to me? As I passed in and out of consciousness as I questioned this. I concentrated on blood. It was what binds us to our bodies and to this world. Blood enriched and empowered anyone._

 _By the blood, the voices made it hard to think._

 _Blood was what banded us. I repeated in my dream. At least that's what Strife thought he was in. A hollow, chamber of his bind that echoed the sound of his thoughts. It was quite peaceful. He could use the peace. The dull pain was making it harder however. His left arm was vibrating, coiling and burning from the sensations. His muscles felt like they were on fire, burning away his resistance and resolve. His skin the glass prison that clearly showed the tortured but refused to allow him to treat it._

 _Blood; He needed some blood. For Blood was all._

 _Blood was life. Yes that's what he thought. Cyrus considered blood to be life. Those people who gave it away and, did so because of how precious it was to them. Blood was the coon and call of addiction. It was the ultimate demonstration of love and partnership. IT was ceremony and sacrifices; the very benchmark of weddings and funerals._

 _Blood was life to him._

 _Those three words seemed to put his mind at ease. Perhaps it was because Assad needed a reminder after all the pain he was enduring. The three words seemed to solidify his resolve, clicking the fractured pieces of his mind, which had been shattered to piece by the Orb._

When Assad woke up, it was in a dark, musky room flat on his back with his ankles and wrists tied by ropes. A rat suffering from scrofula screeched the moment he woke up. It scurried off his body and into the darkness replacing its hairy sensation with the tinge of pain on his right pinky. Strife looked down at the pinky, realizing that the rat had been nibbling on his hand for some time, if the blood was any indication.

Most likely his captures had seen it eating him away the entire time, and yet had done nothing. It was very callous of his captors to leave him in such a state, especially if they wanted to withdraw information from his person. Cyrus attempted to wiggle his wrists but found he unable to do so. Apparently they had been tightly tied together. That concerned him.

Feet shuffled the moment his jailors had recognized his awakening. The guards, who had been surrounding him in the darkness, started shuffling and lighting torched. It was a sign of petty cruelty on their part. By leaving him in such a state, especially by how dry and hungry he felt. He could feel the hunger eating himself away. The cruelty was even more apparent by the way they had let the pests and vermin nibble his body. Whatever the reason Assad understood one thing.

The people he was captured by were not the most decent or humane group. At the exact same moment he understood another aspect of his captivity. They wanted something, probably of some value. Whatever it was would certainly be extracted in a dehumanizing manner. He was a warm body, a soon to be corpse for his captors. His hopes for leaving this situation were easily symbolized by his station within the room.

Damped out, cold and bleak with moments of flight and hope. He had promised himself to do whatever it took to escape this nightmare. After-all when your life's on the line, there is nothing you wouldn't do to survive.

Moments passed before the door opened again. This time the guards returned with more of their brethren, lead by two women of all things. It was very odd. Growing up in Bolton, women in power were a very rare sight. On the other hand they could have been the honey-pots.

Cyprus gazed at his captors waiting for their questions or worse, their abuse. Assad had no illusions about our situation and who had the power. It certainly was not the person in rags and ropes.

Strife looked around the room, trying to understand who he was facing. There were at least twenty or so guards here; more than he thought. Their numbers rationally meant that Assad's importance to his captors was far greater than he thought.

The knowledge and presence of these groups also showed that the subjects of this state or world followed different rules. One of the leading woman stepped forward to me. Her face was hard with silent fury. She was a black haired, armored figured person with an symbol of an eye on the sun. While he had never seen such confidence or power come from the face of a woman in any position, he knew the message. I have the power, you do not. Her status greatly contrasted Assad's own, who himself was in rags, tied up and weak from hunger, cold and thirst.

Assad treaded carefully. Slowly he blinked, purging his body of all the unnecessary thoughts, which may cloud this interrogation. Strife focused on any incoming questions.

"Tell us why we should not kill you right now," snarled the woman into his ear.

That really set the tone and showed the level of experience of the woman. She was pathetic.

"The conclave was destroyed," she growled, "Everyone's dead … except you."

Cyrus blinked at that statement. So he was the only survivor? That was news to him. That old woman was dead then? That was a relief. Oh course that meant that his captors were likely going to blame him, which worried him. Assad narrowed his eyes. Torture may be one of their next avenues of approach. Whether it is for information, vengeance or simple sadism.

Assad chose to remain silent until questioned. That made it less likely he would be harmed.

"Explain this," hissed the woman again grabbing his left arm. It was a glowing firefly green, sending waves and streaks of flickering green light occasionally.

Strife chose to remain silent for the moment, considering my options. How should he explain the situation? Assad understood that the truth would be far-fetched and could incite anger from his jailors. Further-more he had no background knowledge of the situation so everything would seem out of context. Eventually his jailors would consider him insane and simply murder him. On the other hand remaining silent would –

"Answer me!" Cassandra yelled.

Although Strife had anticipated the elbow, that did not mean he had the proper time to react or dodge it.

Assad's head snapped back from the collision. For the first few moments his mind was slightly dazed, unable to register the feeling at his nose. Then Stifle felt the familiar, rushing sensation of exposed blood, dribbling down his lips. Assad closed his eyes, sighing from the growing tinge of pain on his nose.

It was very sloppy of the woman. It made her even more pathetic.

His interrogator was an amateur. You do not start with the head. The prisoner gets fuzzy. Attacking the nose is also a region, professionals avoid. Improper angling and a misuse of force would cause the prisoner to lose consciousness, the inability to breath and even death.

Assad registered the movement of the other woman, pulling the black haired woman away from him. There was a possibility it was done to provide a contrast between the two. The harsher answer could be that the woman had also recognized that his assailant had made a massive error in her judgment.

The other woman was wearing lighter clothing. However I could still see her orange hair, despite the fact that it is was covered by a cowl. Her clothing was a mixture of purple and grey. On her was the same symbol of an eye in the middle of the sun. Her dress and cloak were very form fitting, highlighting her body.

Was this woman a dominatrix or an interrogator?

Cyrus chided himself. Purge such thoughts. His life was on the line.

"We need him Cassandra," reminded the orange-haired woman.

Her answer confirmed my thoughts. The needed me for something.

The woman in the cowl turned to me, her face staring at mine. Cyrus had never felt more exhausted in his entire life. Any resistance he could provide was gone.

"Can you tell me what you saw?" she calmly questioned me.

It seemed the woman had more experience with interrogations than her companion.

I close my eyelids, gathering my thoughts in the process. The order of events of the day played out in my mind. In essence I recalled my appearance in this world, the fight in the castle, the orb and finally my inclusion into the fade.

"What would you like to specifically know?" I replied not knowing how I should phrase this. In regards to that I would also question what she wanted to know specifically.

"Start from the beginning. What brought you here?" she elaborated.

I nodded at her inquiry before reiterating my course of events.

"I was brought here by a being I can only accurately call the Moon Presence. Apparently it is a being that represents the Nightmare of Yharnam. At least one of their guardians from the information I gathered," Assad explained, "Our confrontation led it to dragging me to this realm or location. From there onwards I found myself in the castle."

"Stop right there," snapped Cassandra at Strife before looking at the other woman, "I've heard enough of Varric tales to understand that our suspect is creating false tales, Leliana. Perhaps dragging him out towards the Frost back Mountains will enable him to understand the gravity of the situation."

Leliana skeptically looked at her companion although Cyrus could not understand why. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she believed his story, or at least was telling the truth? Cynically it could have also been due to the idea that dragging me somewhere would make me even less inclined to co-operate? Alternatively it might have been because my treatment might make me even more resistant.

Whatever the case was though, Leliana did not seem to argue with Cassandra.

"Cut the ropes on his feet so that he can walk," ordered Cassandra.

Cyrus mentally raised an eyebrow when one of the guards followed through with the order without complaint or mummer.

"Stand up," breathed Cassandra, "Leliana take the soldiers to the command central. The prisoner will come with me. He needs to understand the situation he is in."

Leliana merely nodded and left the room, with most of the soldiers leaving with her. After a few moments, Cassandra walked behind me and pushed me forward.

"Go," she growled as I walked forward.

Assad followed the order, bare-foot and into the cold evening outside. It was snowing outside. Cyrus's breathing was visible and his hands were starting to feel a burning sensation. It was as if the blood in his veins were burning themselves like oil, to keep him warm. At least that was what they were starting to do. All things take time.

Strife's hairs were all up, as his body tried to keep itself warm. Even in his discomfort, he could not help but noticed the pillar of green light over the horizon, piercing into the sky. It was massive and other-worldly.

Assad merely reminded himself that he too was the same.

Cassandra walked forward, explaining the pillar of light, almost non-chantingly.

"We call it the Breach. It is a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour."

Assad merely noted that information in his mind. So Demons existed in this world. That was not his primary concern. His most immediate danger was the fear of getting frostbite and losing several fingers and toes. Strife had been outside for a minute and his toes were already starting to turn red. If he didn't get something to help him immediately, Assad was certain he was going to lose them, along with his nose.

"It is not the only rift, merely the largest, all caused by the explosion in the conclave," elaborated Cassandra.

Assad further filed that in his mind. What was the conclave? Everyone kept mentioning it.

"Are you sure it was the explosion?" he questioned. He understood that explosions could have certain effects in the world but bridging two worlds together? Possible in his opinion but he would prefer further evidence.

"The two events coincided with each other," answered Cassandra, "The destruction of the conclave and the creation of the Breach."

Suddenly the Breach flashed green lighting around it, rippling through the sky and expanding itself.

Cyrus screamed in pain. The lights pierced into his arm, like drills, twisting and turning his flesh, while burning it at the exact same time. It was scorching and vibrant, crackling his bones and blood.

"By the blood," he whispered.

The pain was gone in a moment but its phantom presence was still there. Although his arm, seemed to be physically fine, Cyrus was under no illusion that the illusion of pain could kill him from shock.

Cassandra seemed to have realized the situation.

"Each time the Breach expands," she noted glancing at his glowing up, "Your mark spreads and it's killing you."

The casual way she said it angered Cyrus somewhat who was still heaving from the shock. His eyes frantically moved from place to place, trying to remove the phantom image. Sweat dribbled down his forehead mixing with the blood on his lips. Assad refused to cry at the moment but he would not consider it untowardly to do so at a later date.

"Your mark maybe the key to stopping this but there isn't much time," Cassandra rationalized.

"What do you mean by maybe?" commented Strife. Whenever someone said maybe they were likely to be pulling stuff out of their head and that in turn would mean they didn't do their proper research

"Closing the Breach, whether that's possible or not, "replied Cassandra, as if she wasn't gambling with his life. That thought pissed him off. She must have seen the frustration and bitterness in his eyes because Cassandra quickly followed it up with, "It's our only chance of salvation and quite, possibly, yours."

"You still think I'm responsible for this?" indignantly claimed Assad. These people were insane in his opinion.

"Not intentionally. That much is clear," justified Cassandra before clarifying, "However something clearly went wrong."

"You clearly have already made up your mind about my sentence,"

"Not entirely. At the moment your our only suspect,"

"You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way,"

"You want me to fight and die for you?"

"No. You will do so because that's your only option."

Not my only one.

The soldiers merely pointed their fingers at me, beaming at my pathetic state.

"They have already decided your guilt. They need it," Cassandra mentioned offhandedly. As if he didn't need more knowledge of what his fate would look like.

Strife continued to walk the frost bitten road with her, his state getting worse overtime. It must have been ten minutes of walking. In those then minutes his hands and feet had swollen up and were starting to become pinkish.

The cold stone touched his feet, sending piercing shockwaves into his body. Despite this he did not dare to say a word. If his captor actually cared for him, they would have given him the proper clothing. There was no point asking for anything, in Strife's opinion. Instead it would only incite more anger and punishment. Those without power simple had to take the abuse in hopes that it would soon come to an end or if an opportunity to advance themselves came.

"The people of Haven mourn our most holy, Divine Justinia, head of the chantry. The Conclave was hers," elucidated Cassandra, unaware that Cyrus had stopped paying attention to here talks a long time ago. There was no point listening to this gabble.

Strife didn't want to put up with her preaching, "These are not my people. Their lives don't matter to me."

Cassandra snapped at him, "That doesn't matter. Whoever you are you must know the havoc the war has caused. Our divine brought their leaders, of both the Mage's and Templar's, together. Now they are dead."

Strife personally questioned why he had talked at all. There was no point in it. It would simply make his captors gain a greater negative opinion on him. Nevertheless Assad accepted the information Cassandra was freely giving out to him. So there were Mages and Templars in this world. What did they do?

Even if they were at war, he was just another bystander.

"And I'm all that's left. The scapegoat," Cyrus bitterly commentated.

Cassandra seemed to have slowed down at his comment, which took him a few moments to respond in turn, once he couldn't feel her presence behind him. Once again Cyrus chided himself. The frostbite, hunger and thirst were getting to him.

"That is true," Cassandra admitted "There is not denying it. People shall cry for your blood, head and honor."

Her comments reduced Cyrus's opinion of her even further. Clearly this woman was not prepared for her job. This is why women like her shouldn't be in positions of power.

"There will be a trial. I can promise no more," grunted Cassandra honestly.

That itself was another weakness. Cyrus mental criticized Cassandra once again. While he felt that being honest was a virtue, there were times when being so was not appropriate. Judging by the situation and Cassandra's role in it, this was not the time. Shifting his eyes around the outpost Cassandra had brought him, Assad asked the inevitable question

"When am I going to die?"

The way he had bluntly putted it to Cassandra, made her trip slightly. Clearly my acceptance or acknowledgement of the fact had surprised her. Foolish woman, there was no point denying it. Denial was an aspect of weakness. Accept the facts for what they were. Nothing less or more, was who I am.

Who am I?

I'm a surveyor, a bureaucrat, a man of the middle-class. My purpose can be darker than truth and lighter than dishonesty. My service was to the state; nothing more, nothing less.

Cassandra bit her tongue as if it pained her to admit the truth, "Not now. First we must prove if your mark lives up to our expectations."

Once again you are showing how weak you are Cassandra.

"Try it on something smaller?" I commented not really understanding the situation. What would they need me to do?

Cassandra seemed to have realized that she had given too much away and decided to remain silent, until we were both at the doors of the wooden outpost. She walked forward, letting the outpost guards open for her.

My lips and nose were starting to turn black about now. I feared that I was going to permanently lose parts of my body before this night is over. That horror was becoming more apparent as the night wore on.

Cassandra turned around to me and silently lifted a knife beckoning me to come forward. Assad did so out of necessity. It seemed that she had finally noticed my ragged conditions and my bare-feet. Cutting the ropes around my wrists, Cassandra freed my hands.

What did she want from me?

Cyrus looked into her eyes and saw silent apprehension and … was that guilt? Whatever it was, Cassandra had certainly taken her time in taking care of him. Strife chided her again mentally. You always make sure that a prisoner is taken care of so long as you had a use for him.

Strife sighed at his new freedom. It was freezing outside but now he could at least find the means to protect himself from frostbite then that would place his mind and body at ease. Cassandra and the guards of the outpost watched him silently. They obviously didn't care one bit about him, so long as chose not to run.

It certainly didn't matter to Strife. Hurriedly, he looked through the various crates left around here, hoping that there would be something that he could wear at least. His body was tingling by now. Personally Assad thought it must have been at least twenty minutes, perhaps more. He had to move quickly if he didn't want to lose his fingers or toes.

The first container contained nothing of value except some kindling, tinder and matches. Neither did the second container had a small knife which itself had probably seen better days. Ruffling through the crates, he soon had all but given up hope until he opened the last container. In it he found a pair of leather boots and a set of woolen clothing. The set contained scarves, gloves and a furred hat.

It would be appropriate.

He rags would merely get in the way. If he still felt cold after putting on his new clothes, then he would have to place the rags at strategic locations to minimize body loss. At the moment though, that didn't matter. Taking off all his clothes, Assad was aware of everyone's eyes on him but that didn't matter. What mattered was survival. Assad looked back at Cassandra but once again the woman didn't seem to care, what he did so long as it didn't end in his escape.

Naked as the day he was born, Assad put on the clothes. They fitted in quite comfortably. The layers insulated his bodies and protected him from frost-bite at the very least. He sighed in relief. That was one fear taken care off.

Looking down at his former rags and back at the kindling, Cyrus shrewdly came up with a thought. It would certainly make life easier. Balling his hands into a gloved fist, Assad smashed one of the planks of the crates. It smashed into various pieces and splinters. Taking the biggest piece, Assad wrapped his rags around the piece of wood and lit up his rags with the kindling. It took a few minutes of effort, which was enough time for Cassandra to come up to him. Strife paid no attention to those thoughts.

A fire had started on the rags despite the harsh winds. Cyrus smiled at his ingenuity and efforts. He now had a make-shift torch. Quickly he put the knife in his sleeves without Cassandra noticing. At least that's what he thought so.

Getting up with this torch, Cyrus walked to the other entrance of the outpost. The door opened for him readily and without comment. That was foolish of the guards.

He continued moving outside and noticed that the dirt road only moved in one direction. At the exact opposite direction was nothing but snow and rocks. No one seemed to be guarding it and it seemed that these guards didn't really care. Assad understood that they would be more than happy to shoot him down with their arrows. Nevertheless he would have to take the risk.

He ran. Cyrus ran through the snow and away from the roads.

"Stop him!"

Cassandra and the guards seemed to have realized the direction of his movement. That didn't matter. Cyrus was not going to stay and die. He continued running another hundred meters right before another flash of green light erupted in the sky.

Strife cringed knowing what was coming. It still didn't make him prepared for the pain that scourged through his arm and into this body. He cried in pain, falling over on his knees. The lights were digging into his flesh, scratching him, killing him with every flash. There was no point trying to get up. Cassandra and the rest of the guards had already surrounded him.

"The pluses are coming faster now. You have to co-operate with us. For your own benefit and ours," Cassandra noticed as she indicated with her sword to his arm.

Cyrus bitterly stated back, "What good is it then if you people don't even give me the proper respect?"

Cassandra looked at the guards surrounding her before signaling them to leave. Once again they looked at her funnily before doing so.

She admitted, "It is true that we haven't been the … most kind to you."

Both of us paused, waiting for the other to speak up. Cassandra wanted me to make a comment, while Cyrus waited for an apology or at least some reassurance. Both remained completely silent, waiting for the other to bend and give in. The silence continued, without either of them looking at each other.

Cassandra finally accepted that there was no way to side-step the issues we had, "Nevertheless what do you need? Don't try running. You won't get two kilometers in the mountains before you die from the cold, pursuing soldiers, angry mobs or the mark itself."

I'll take my chances at the first opportunity, even if I did know the odds. To me it didn't matter. Anything was better than certain death. Nevertheless Cyrus understood quite clearly that he wasn't likely going to make a proper escape attempt. If those flashes were starting to occur at shorter intervals, that only meant that he had to stop them from occurring altogether. With that in mind, Assad got up and walked down the dirt road to his destination.

For ten minutes neither said a word to each other. Cassandra continued gripping her sword and shield, while Assad clutched his make-shift torch. The two of them continued walking forward, feeding off each other's misery. Cassandra was no doubt angry and in despair from what had happened at the conclave. Strife on the other hand was frustrated at the current situation he was in. Assad despised being in a situation where he was at the mercy of someone else.

"You're not curious about your situation," noticed Cassandra as they continued walking. Clearly she had expected him to talk about his situation or at least question what was going on.

Strife just replied acidly "The less I know, the less I care. You know I don't want to be here."

Assad himself was surprised by the way he was acting this was not him. However he could understand why he involuntarily acting in such a manner. He needed to lash out and with death all but certain either way, there was no point pretending or hiding his nature.

Cassandra acknowledged, "That is true. We'll straighten out the situation once we close the rift."

Apparently she was starting to believe his story as time went on. Or at the very least, Cassandra understood that the situation she had found herself thrust in was beyond anything she could have imagined.

Whatever their thoughts on the matter it was soon interrupted when a blast of light from the breach screeched forward to the bridge. The collision destroyed the bridge in question, killing everyone except Cassandra and Assad.

Strife didn't know how they survived. Despite being caught on surprise, both Cassandra and him were alive. Snow and dust fell on their bodies as the wind howled in the empty frozen creek. No doubt it was nature's way of mourning the dead and feasting on their carcasses. Cyrus looked around, seeing bodies littered everywhere. The faces of those men and women were simply a few of many and they were just a drop in the bucket.

Although he had planned to examine himself, that all came to an end when a puddle of black goo appeared on to the frozen lake. Slowly it transformed itself, taking shape into that an abomination and beast. It was the size of a man, with the basically outline of one. However it seemed that certain parts had been forgotten or misplaced. Arms were bent the wrong way, cowl-like leather wrapped around the face and the creature gave off an unnatural feeling towards Cyprus. Cassandra however seemed to recognized what it was however.

"Get behind me," she yelled.

Assad could respect her courage, if not her determination to escort her charge. Immediately, Cassandra charged forth, sword and shield in hand to confront the creature. However in doing so, she had left him alone. Now may have been the opportunity to run but Cyrus had accepted that it would futile.

Most worryingly however, a second puddle was forming in front of him. That meant another creature was going to appear, and if he gathered anything from Cassandra's current battle with the first being, he would need a weapon.

His knife may have been useful but that would have to be a last resort. Cyrus looked around, hoping for something which could be used to defend himself. Finally his eyes spied on a thin sword leaning on the stones just a few meters to him. He rushed forward towards it, noticing that he was slower than usual. Hunger and thirst was taking its toll on him.

Quickly he grabbed it, just as the creature had formed. It scanned the area before noticing his presence. Lunging forward, the creature's outstretched it's arms, no doubt trying to do him arm. It would be a mistake on its part, as the momentum had made it unable to dodge his next strike.

Sidestepping the creature, Assad half-circled it before plunging his sword into it's back. The being screamed in pain, fright and surprise. Dark smoke and blood appeared where he had just stabbed it. Strife held his sword in its place, waiting for the creature to die. In a few seconds it stopped all resistance and quickly perished. The body also disappeared in the process.

"Drop your weapon!" Assad heard Cassandra yell from behind him. Apparently she had already finished her battle with the first creature. Assad would have preferred that she had died in the confrontation but that was fool's gold.

Turning around glared at her, sword in hand. Now he had a weapon. That would make the situation unproblematic to a certain extent.

"No!" He yelled holding it ready to fight Cassandra. Hunger and thirst still gripped his throat and body. Should he have to confront Cassandra it would be difficult but do-able. They were both alone and there was nothing stopping him from killing her and drinking her blood to replenish him.

"Drop it now or I'll disarm you myself," Cassandra growled as she gripped her sword and shield.

Strife merely glowered, "Like I'll let you."

Neither of them were planning giving ground. Both had their own reasons for refusing to co-operate. In the end confrontation was inevitable.

Cassandra and Strife's sword's clashed one another. Following the strike's Cassandra attempted to slam her shield into Strife who dodged the attack.

"It doesn't have to end this way," Cassandra attempted to reason.

Strife merely grunted, "Yes. Yes it does."

Once again their swords clashed. Strife however realized that Cassandra was not putting all her energy into the fight; most likely in hopes of not seriously injuring him. In his weakened state, he could barely match her. She sent an overhead swing, which Cyrus once again side-stepped, before attempting to strike here left elbow.

The sword clipped her arm. That it must have made Cassandra realize that Cyrus would kill her unless she completely dedicated herself to defeating him.

She growled, "Last chance. Co-operate with me. Your chipping away any good-will I have for you."

The two circled each other, waiting for the other to show signs of weakness. Her armored, figure to his barely armed. They continued to examine each other, waiting for signs of weakness, preying on each other's mistakes. Strife and Cassandra recognized that their respective opponents were seasoned fighters who would take any opening to defeat and kill the other.

"Every time I run I know it will be away from certain death, no matter how fleeting," accused Strife, "Can you really expect me to fight for you people when I know that there will almost certainly be a kangaroo court waiting for me?"

Cassandra merely remained silent, though she did tilt her head at his statement. Strife decided to enlighten her on what he meant, at the two of them continued to gaze at each other.

"It's a court where my sentence is already confirmed; Death. Why should I fight?"

Cassandra stated. "It seems you do not value honor or the safety of others."

"I like to know that I volunteered for a situation," replied Strife, "Let me go."

Cassandra merely shook her head despite the fact that her sword lowered itself "You know I cannot do that."

Cyrus on the other hand laid out the facts, "You need me. I don't need you."

"I'm the person who is fully armored," Cassandra stated, as if indicating to the sword and shield "You do realize that there is not a large chance you can defeat me?"

Cyrus looked at Cassandra, who looked back at him unflinchingly. So this woman did have some spine, even if she was incompetent at her assignments. Assad sighed

"You're right. I'm still weak from your lack of care," he admitted.

"Pardon?" questioned Cassandra, her expression morphing into that of surprise.

Was Cassandra, truly so ignorant of what her sub-ordinates were. Assad didn't believe that. No superior would let such an important task be mistreated or improperly implemented. At least no one competent.

Cyrus enlightened Cassandra, "You heard me. Why do you think I'm so desperate to leave?"

Cassandra shot back, "You've been treated like a prisoner should be."

Assad looked into her eyes and saw only determination and honesty. No lies. No harm.

It seemed Cassandra truly was as ignorant and he had initially thought. That was pathetic. Once again it re-affirmed his opinion on Cassandra. While the woman was certainly an honest person who a degree of determination and courage, that still did not exclude her weaknesses. She was incompetent at interrogation and could not hold her sub-ordinates in line.

"Starved? Dehydrated?" Cyrus listed. At that moment, his stomach growled as if demonstrating his point, "I haven't been fed or watered in the days I was left unconscious. You should know this."

Cassandra's face morphed into that of astonishment. Thank the blood that this woman is finally seeing reason.

"I admit … I did not."

Strife merely sneered at her, "Shows what you know. You're pathetic!"

Those words seemed to have made her flinch a little. Clearly she had not been having the best of days. Assad laughed at the situation before acknowledge that there was a way for him to benefit from this

"I will co-operate. On one condition," he scowled thinking of all the torture he was going to implement on his jailors.

"Name it," Cassandra answered.

He parley his conditions, "My former captors get tortured by me."

"In any way."

Cassandra's faced transformed into one of fury. Raising her sword she attempted to strike Strife. Her aim was off and wild, allowing Cyrus to easily dodge her swipe.

"No!" she shouted.

"Do it or one of us dies here right now," rebuffed Assad. "If I'm going down, those people are going with me."

Cassandra stopped attempting to strike him. For a few minutes she considered his offer. It wouldn't be right. It would create distrust in the future she wanted in story. However she could see no way to install his cooperation.

"So be it."

With that Assad dropped his sword.


	4. Chapter 3: Solas and Varric

**Darker than Truth, Stronger than Night, Blood is thicker than black**

 **Chapter 3: Solas and Varric**

 _A night sky full of cries_ _._

 _A heart filled with lies_ _._

 _This mission-is it worth the price?_

 _A soul pledged to the darkness_ _._

 _Now I've lost it, I know I can kill._

 _The truth is just beyond the Gate._

Killing those demons was far easier than I had initially thought. Assad didn't find them as challenging at the men and beasts he had fought in Yharnam.

Practical society creates its own morality, not the other way around.

That's something I understood from an early age.

Morality was based on the idea that people can understand the practical ideas of following such a code of honor. Enslavement of other peoples, were not done for the simple reason of cruelty or narcissism, although there were elements of society that followed such methods. Slavery was committed due to labor shortages for various occupations and undesirable jobs.

The order which dictated my life was simply that. Order was what made up our country. Obedience and service to the state was the essence of the middle class, for understandable reasons. We were surrounded by eleven other countries. Most were hostile, some were neutral and very few were allied to us.

Increased growth resulted in a structural plan of development and the people who were part of the projects were us. We were the middle class. We controlled the provisions of state and made up the bureaucracy of the government. It wasn't a pleasant living but it wasn't uncomfortable. So close to the top we saw the lives of the aristocracy and lords; the merchants and the industrialists.

However we were just as much a part of the working classes and the poor. The beggars and the cobblers; the weavers and the farmers who supported us in hopes of a better future for their children. We were the civil service and we do not care how things are done so long as they are completed.

The Civil Service was an excellent home for me. We ate meat, seven times a fortnight, a good home, depending on your occupation and various other provisions to make our lives comfortable. Our loyalty was to the state and the King. For our occupations we were rewarded greatly. I wouldn't admit however, that it wasn't a soulless existence.

"I am a man of the Civil Service," I whispered to myself, "I am a man forged by the ink of papers and the blood of the state."

I'm trying to repeat my oath because I'm can sense I'm breaking down. I wavering because of all the stress of the last few days. I feel exhausted. But I can't let Cassandra know that. I can't let her see my so weak. I had been fighting non-stop since the Micolash, the host of the nightmare. I could sense that my mind was degrading at a rapid pace. I could have handled the insight of celestial madness I was getting from various substances.

"I am a man of the Middle Class. I swear my undying, loyalty to the state for the rest of my lifetime. I swear to the King and only the king."

The constant strain however was starting to become too much. All I knew was that I couldn't give in.

"The task set for me will affect the lives of many no matter what and I should remember that. I will be unchanging, everlasting in my duty. I am a man of the Civil Service."

Cassandra had noticed my whispers as I spoken my oath. The most likely case was that Cassandra had been curious at what I was speaking. It was funny how little I was starting to care. I wanted to chide myself but the lack of proper sleep, malnutrition and thirst was getting to me. Fish guts would have been very preferable now.

"Civil Service?" she questioned.

"The governmental workers of which I was part of in my country," I answered.

Torch in hand I continued to walk over the frozen river. Snow tingled my nose a little. While it wasn't as bad as before I still wished that I had some more clothes to wear. Perhaps wherever I am being led to will have extra clothes to wear?

Cassandra glanced at me, merely nodding her head once. The two of us continued walking at a steady pace over the narrow river. Occasionally she would point to a direction she would want me to go, causing me to tense up a little. I always kept Cassandra within my peripheral vision, in case she decided to fight me again. However over the next half an hour that possibility seemed less and less likely. Cassandra seemed to be getting less certain of her as time passed.

That didn't matter. The woman's opinion didn't really affect anything. On the other hand my opinion certainly meant something to Cassandra.

Cassandra queried, "Do you have any siblings?"

No doubt it was because of her desire to gain information for the upcoming interrogation. Giving her said information would be problematic in the long run, when we do find ourselves clashing with one another. No; there was no reason to speak my mind. Cassandra would simply extract it from me later.

My silence seemed to be her answer.

Cassandra grunted, "I understand."

For your information Cassandra, I have five siblings. I have one older brother, who is the second child and four sisters. Currently I'm the third child, but you don't need to know that. By a stroke of good fortune, all of them had lived beyond the age of ten. Perhaps I would have found myself swimming in nephews and nieces if it weren't for that bloody disease and this twisted bout of glee the gods had cursed upon me. Or maybe this was all a dream.

I really wish I had my Blunderbuss however. Perhaps I will be able to replicate it later on, shot I have the time although that seemed like an unlikely possibility. The green light in my hand also seemed to be getting increasingly hotter, like a grenade about to burst from its shell. At the moment it was tolerable.

Even so it I would soon have to release whatever was in my hand.

"You truly are not from this area are you?" questioned Cassandra.

Cyrus replied, "No. As I stated before I don't want to be here."

"So that story about the Moon Presence," inquired Cassandra, "That seems rather mystical."

"There's a hole in the sky," stated Assad pointing to the breach, "There's nothing in this world that can't be mystical."

"Point taken," admitted Cassandra, "Although what little I could have gained from your story certainly seems a bit farfetched."

"You would be surprised how many people from my world wouldn't believe my story," Strife commented surprised by how easily he was speaking with Cassandra.

On the other hand he understood that there was no reason why he shouldn't. In this case there was little he was giving away. Unlike if he had spoken about his siblings. His mind was degrading faster than he thought. He needed proper care and rest to prevent any hallucinations he was certainly going to face in the near future.

Those thoughts however left my mind the moment the noticed those exact same creatures from before. Fear was his overriding mechanism and Assad understood that while he could continue with fear and stress eventually it would eat him away.

 _I miss you Kirsi. I miss you so much._

"Demons," hissed Cassandra as she pointed at the creatures. I nodded at her explanation. So those creatures were demons.

"Can I expect you to not fight me again?" questioned Cassandra. No doubt she didn't want to be stabbed in the back while in the middle of fighting one of the "demons".

Strife however pointed out, "No you can't. You can't trust me. What you can do however is trust me to keep my end of the bargain so long as you're willing to do the same for yours."

Cassandra paused at that no doubt remembering what I had just said. Clearly she was expecting me to not bring up our hasty arrangement. Was this woman serious? Do you clearly expect me to not remind you what you owe me?

"I see," accepted Cassandra, "We'll banish the demon. I'll trust you to not attack me so long as it's within your self-interest."

"Good," I answered, "What do you need me to do?"

Cassandra ordered, "Attack from the rear of the demon. I can't trust you to hold up to constant attacks without armor. Keep in my eyesight though, but not the demons. I don't want you running off."

"Understood," I repeated.

Gliding over the snow I silently approached the demon from behind, Cassandra flanking it from within its range of vision. The demon seemed to have noticed Cassandra. After all it her stomping movements, shiny armor and purple outfit it would be nearly impossible to not notice her in the snowing weather.

Her actions gave me the appropriate time to backstab the demon. The creature cried in pain at my action, but I insisted and continued. Its struggles grew frantic for a few seconds before it just stopped moving and disappeared like ash. I was never going to get used to the lack of blood.

Cassandra merely nodded at my efficiency and the two of us moved on. As noticed, neither of us fully trusted the other but we agreed to work until our bargain was fulfilled. Killing Cassandra however was going to require additional effort.

In the mean time the two of us continued cautiously moving up the roads. Very soon, though, we found ourselves walking towards another source of fighting.

This time it was between two men, one incredibly short and one lanky fighting more of these creatures. Cassandra seemed to recognize them however which was going to make it very difficult for me.

It was my time to decide. With my weapons, no matter how lightly equipped I was, I could kill Cassandra and leave. Doing so however means that I risk getting attacked by more of these demons. Furthermore I do not know if I will face different kinds of demons who would be beyond my capacity to deal with. However doing so will allow me to escape my fate with Cassandra and her organization. I am also under no assumptions that Cassandra will maintain our bargain. My comment was made in the heat of the moment, which I chastised myself for. I needed to think logically.

On the other hand simply not killing Cassandra means that I will be safer in the short term, and if these men can help me survive my trek through this mountain and situation it would be worth it in the short term. Further-more the closer the got to them, the more apparent it was becoming that the two men were certainly proficient at fighting the demons.

So I moved with Cassandra. My chances of betraying her were becoming less likely by my various actions. Oh the blood. I mentally winced.

The two men were fighting around five or so Demons. By the time Cyrus and Cassandra were within range however that number was down to three. So these men were competent.

Although the way they fought was certainly awkward.

Cassandra bashed her shield across one of the demons once again, knocking it back. Taking advantage of that opening I stabbed the demon through its mid-section before pulling out. Dark substances poured out of its body before whisking into the air. The demon staggered for a few moments. In that time gained the opening necessary to slash it diagonally.

The demon screamed in agony before disappearing into the air.

Turning around I noticed Cassandra and the two men were also dealing with the other demons. Cassandra quickly bashed the demon with her shield, while the short man pierced it with his crossbow bolt. Their combined efforts injured the demon enough to kill it. Once again the demon disappeared into ash.

The final demon was fighting the tall man though. Bolts of light of what was magic were coming out of his staff. Tightening my grip on my sword I strode towards him, in hopes on helping his fight against the demon. The demon cried in rage as the tall man kept it at bay. While it did seem as though the man was going to be victorious I refused to remain uncertain. With that in mind I sliced one of the demon's arms off.

No doubt it had been weakened by the fight from before. With said opening, the tall man was able to send a bolt of energy into the demon's chest scrambling its body parts all around snow.

It seemed that we were victorious.

"Quickly, put your hand in the rift," the tall man yelled.

His shouting confused me for an instance. Taking advantage of that, the tall man grabbed my hand and pointed it directly to the Rift.

Green light emitted from my palm as the energy course through it. To me it seemed that someone had engulfed my entire hand in boiling water. I screeched in pain, for a few minutes as the light danced from the small rift to me and back forth.

My arm vibrated, despite the fact that the man was holding it steady. Then finally it came to an end. The rift collapsed into itself, disappearing as if it was never there in a bang. I, Cassandra and the two men gazed at where at it had been. Perhaps it was in awe or surprise.

Finally I turned toward the tall man. I only noticed now that he wasn't wearing proper armor and had pointed ears.

"How did you do that?" I questioned.

"It was not I who did it," he answered courteously with a little bow, "The triumph is all yours. I hypothesized that the mark in your hand was connected to the rift and pushed it forward in hopes of closing it."

I nodded, despite not liking his explanation, "It seems that you were correct."

"Which means," concluded Cassandra hopefully, "that it can probably close the large one itself."

"Most likely," I accepted.

This was a pleasant development. It meant I had leverage. If there was more rifts like this I could simply cut off my hand and burn it. Let these bastards rot if they didn't give me what I wanted. My previous agreement was born out of desperation and little stability. But now with this …

Cassandra must have come to the same conclusion as me because her eyes widened before she turned her sword to me. Raising my own in return I met her blade. While neither of us were striking each other, there was no doubt that co-operation wasn't going to be easy from here on out.

"Well it hasn't been a single minute without demons and we're already trying to kill each other," mocked the short man.

"This is none of your business Varric," growled Cassandra never taking her eyes off me, "I can't believe it. The key to our salvation comes from a person like you."

"Fate does seem to roll the dice on that," I acknowledged as I stepped to my right.

"Wait a moment everyone," calmly interrupted Varric, no doubt trying to prevent this from escalating into a fight to the death.

"Cassandra. Whatever this man has done," pointed out the tall man, most likely trying to be the mediator, "He seems to be the only one who can give us our salvation. Please think about that."

Cassandra growled once again at the two men's words before relenting once again.

"Your right Solas," admitted Cassandra before placing her sword back in her sheath, "This isn't over. You will be pay for your crimes once this is over."

"We'll see about that," I scoffed before adding, "You still think I'm guilty."

"Yes," clearly stated Cassandra.

"Then let me spell it out for you, you bitch," I swore tightening my grip around my sword, "I'm not responsible for whatever is going on here. I didn't arrive here on my own violation. Everything of this locality is completely new to me."

Whatever good will, I probably had gained from fighting with Cassandra disappeared completely. That didn't matter to me. If she wanted my co-operation she should have been more competent on her part.

"Well this is awkward," stated Varric. I turned to the two men.

"So who might you be?" I questioned staring incredulously at the two men. They seemed so odd. "I've never met men who appear the way the two of you do. Is this a family trait?"

"Are you serious?" inquired Varric. I merely nodded at his statement, "Never mind. I'm a dwarf. I'm also a rogue, storyteller and occasional story teller. Don't tell me they don't have dwarves where you come from?"

"No," I bluntly stated, "Like I said. I'm not from around here. Sorry."

Cassandra snorted at my last statement earning a glare from my person. However she seemed to be content to just watch the banter.

"Well this is strange," acknowledged Solas, "As for myself, I'm an elf. Are there elves where you come from?"

Shaking my head I replied, "Unfortunately no. Since you two are more pleasant company than the seeker I have to ask. What are you Solas? You seem to be using powers similar to some of the beings I have fought. But I would like an explanation from you before reaching a conclusion."

"An apostate," interrupted Cassandra, "A person with the ability to control the forces of magic that originates from the fade but does not answer to the Chantry. The rift is simply another tear between our worlds."

"Strange," I admitted, "Solas I don't know what to say."

"Why's that?" he enquired as Varric tilted his head

"The last practitioners of magi I met were responsible for the plague of my city. I put a stop to them but the death toll was … too many," I sadly admitted.

Solas sighed before nodding in understanding, "That is unfortunate. Many of those who have the gift of magic tend to misuse their talents."

"But not all," grunted Varric. Cassandra returned his answer with a steely gaze. The more they interact the more I consider that they might have a history together.

"You should know," pointed out Cassandra, "Hawke himself was an apostate, before he ran off with his Elvin lover."

Varric chuckled, "Of course he did. They loved each other. Probably expect a letter any day about the baby."

Cassandra gritted her teeth at Varric's comment. Who was this Hawke? Why was Cassandra angry at Varric? Was it because of that man?

So many questions filled my head but ado I would have to find answers to them at a later date, if I survived. Cassandra seemed to be about to explode on Varric. I was starting to like Varric. He was certainly better company than Cassandra. So I turned to Solas, hoping to distract her.

Turning to Solas I inquired, "What can you tell me about the mark?"

"You're not going to attack me?" he replied half mockingly, half genuine.

I shook my head, "No. I'm personally willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"You really should. He kept that mark from killing you," stated Varric.

My eyes opened in astonishment at that fact. Am I really alive because of Solas? I guess I truly owe the man.

"Then I guess I really should. Thank you."

Truly was grateful for what he had done. To think, that I wouldn't have survive a day in this world without outside help.

Solas smiled graciously before nodding his head, "It's not every day I get thanks for my talents. Anyways, the mark uses magic unlike I have ever seen. At the time of examination I was only able to examine the symptoms but not the mark itself. Pity."

"We'll see what we can do," promised Cassandra no longer glaring at Varric.

I mocked her, "Just so long as you know how to treat high value prisoners properly."

"Yes," conceded Solas before nodding to Varric, "I was unable to get reports or attend to your condition after the immediate danger of you dying had passed."

So I was denied medical attention? Medical treatment when it would have been crucial for my survival? Just how stupid was Cassandra that she was willing to ignore such common sense? Or was Cassandra simply that bitter?

"And let me guess," speculated Varric, "You weren't treated as well as I thought?"

His eyes shifted slightly to right indicating to Cassandra. No doubt he was also another prisoner, if that indication was anything noteworthy.

"In more ways than one," I accepted before casting the blame on the woman responsible for my continuous suffering, "Cassandra here is at fault."

"And you're making it very hard for me to disagree with your guards," retorted the woman.

"Just remember that when I torture them to death," I accorded, with a disregard to her opinion. My head still hurt or I wouldn't have snapped at her like that. I grasped the torch tighter in my hand. It was still freezing but I'll live.

"Worse than I thought," sighed Varric as shaking his head.

"Where are we going?" I inquired to Cassandra looking at her.

"Continue through the mountain path," Cassandra instructed, no doubt realizing that we were going to have to work together if we wanted to live through this whole ordeal.

Varric stepped forward, "And I'm coming with you."

"I hardly believe that any would want to come voluntarily," I admitted. Granted my stay hadn't been the most pleasant but if the way Cassandra and Varric were looking at each other …

Solas stated, "It's the sensible option. The Breach threatens everyone. Anyone who can help should do so."

"If only some actually followed such principles," snorted Cassandra.

So what if I didn't Care Cassandra?

Varric ignored her comment, "You need me seeker. Your soldiers aren't in control anymore. Look around you. How many living people do you see?"

"Two of whom Cassandra does not want," I stated.

"That's true but you'll need all the help you can get," He pointed out once more.

I nodded at that, "Let's go."

And so the four of us set forth. It was quite chilly outside but that didn't matter. What mattered was that my future was becoming less bleak by the moment. Perhaps I could survive to the end of all this.

"So what do you do for a living?" asked Varric as we walked up the mountain path.

"A couple of weeks ago I was a student studying surveying," I replied. It was my occupation as a future Surveyor.

Not saying anymore Varric just shrugged. Perhaps he thought I was a quiet one. I didn't really trust Varric but talking to him did seem nice. At least it did at first.

"I'm surprised you got an answer from him," noted Cassandra as we tugged through the snow.

Slush, stone and snow covered the ground. There were dead bodies and fires found in random places but we continued to move forward. No point looting or searching the area when we were in a hurry.

I growled at her comment, "That's because Varric has been quite polite."

Solas chuckled at that, "I'll admit the Seeker isn't the most relatable person."

"She needs to relax," Varric commented, "By the way what do you do to relax? I'm sorry I didn't get your name?"

I smirked at that. Varric's joyful attitude was disarming. If only the interrogation had gone like this then I wouldn't have felt the need to run away.

" My name is Cyrus Assad Strife. You can choose to call me whichever one you part you choose. Well I don't have much spare time," I explained "Too busy studying for the final portion of my report. But when I do I spend time writing or painting."

"Really? I'm a writer myself," Varric noted. He seemed quite happy to meet another person who enjoyed writing.

"What do you write anyways?" I asked.

"Well romance, adventure and autobiography," Varric boasted.

"That's impressive," I admitted. It wasn't often that writers worked outside their comfort zone, "Do you get a lot of sales from your work?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes I don't," acknowledged Varric,"What do you write yourself?"

"Well my writing generally isn't that long. I write short stories. Although there is this one book that I plan to publish." I explained to him.

I remained silent as I continued to walk up the mountain pass. Should I tell him? Eventually I decided there was no harm in telling Varric. I doubt Solas or Cassandra would be interested in it. No doubt I was starting to feel chatty.

"There's another book I want to publish if I can get the funds as well."

Varric was genuinely curious about what I wrote, "Really? What do you call them?'

He was certainly very good at phrasing his questions. Varric made the questions seem so innocent and benevolent. I felt like I could talk to this man for days. I looked back at Solas and Cassandra who seemed to be quite happy to lay back as we continued to talk. No doubt they were hoping that Varric would get some information out of me. I understood that they wanted it as well.

However I couldn't help but feel frustrated if I didn't answer any of Varric's questions.

"The first one is Darker than Black. It's a really sensible book about what people would logically do with their powers," I elaborated. Snow was now starting to fall faster all over the place "Pretty grayish stuff about morality, especially the hero, and the conflict leaves most of the characters dead."

"That seems rather bleak," noted Varric, as he held his crossbow in his hand "Can't say I would write something like that. Though it sounds like my Tale of Champion. But that's something that really happened."

I paused beckoning all my companions to stop. It was funny how I was starting to consider them my companions now. I halted them for a reason. Peering over stones I glance around my area. There were no demons like I had initially thought.

"What's the other book called?" asked Solas apparently listening to our conversation. Shrugging I decided to tell him. The two of them were certainly no friends of Cassandra and if I could win them over I would certainly be better off.

My face fell though at the thought. _Kirsi the plain doll._ I honestly wanted to tell them. In fact I should tell them. It would make things easier. Not to mention the fact that … it would get some sympathy points from Cassandra, at least. Or maybe it will make her torture me more after this is all over.

"Five Centimeters per second," I anguished. That incited curious expressions from everyone. Varric and Solas were certainly bewildered while Cassandra was starting to frown slightly from all the chatter.

"That's an odd name for a book," commented Cassandra. I looked at her before sighing. So she was listening in.

Turning to Varric I decided to explain, "It is. Basically it's based on my life a little but not so much."

"Why do you call it that?" Varric requested delicately. It seemed that he realized that it was a bit of a sore topic for me. Nevertheless I couldn't help but feel that he could understand me. Perhaps I should explain.

"Because it is about how the life I truly wanted was ripped away from me," I explained.

I remember writing thirty pages of the story so far. It would certainly reach a hundred pages easily. There was no way I could have been able to publish something of that format though sadly. Doing so would seem like slacking off by middle-class standards. Our lives were to the state and only to the state. Art wasn't forbidden but it was frowned upon for not leaving it to the nobility, working classes or the poor. We could be artistic at home but it was necessary that our home lives didn't bleed into the public works.

Besides publishing something like that would have been scandalous. No woman would have wanted to marry me after that. It would make me seem disloyal, despite the wealth it could generate. That was if I was lucky and if the publishers actually didn't scrap it or leak it out to the public about my forbidden love "affair".

"It's about the romance about a boy and girl that tragically does not come to pass." I elaborated before adding ,"The girl's name is Kirsi."

My throat ached from that very name. I could feel my eyes water a little and my head pound from the idea.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up," apologized Varric, once he recognized how the topic was making me fee.

I closed my eyes for a few moments pushing those thoughts away into the back of my mind. There would be ample opportunity to cry about lost opportunities and lost loves later. Right now I was on a mission. It was something I needed to complete. Opening eyes I marched on.

"Don't be," I reassured not really sure about I should feel about this situation. Uncomfortable about Varric's probing questions. Confusion at how he's getting me to answer them so masterfully when Cassandra failed? Or should I be in awe about the way Varric can project himself in such a manner?

"It's something I have to live with every day," I hauntingly croaked, "My deepest regret was not marrying her."

We kept moving up the mountain path. How were we not facing anything? I wanted to stop talking about this? But the more I felt like I needed to bottle it up the more pressure I felt about releasing it. I needed to do this.

"Oh."

Oh indeed Varric. I feel exhausted. Like all the will, all the fighting has mentally drained me for the past day. So I'm just walking, answering his questions because he's not forcing me to answer them. Varric's not demanding answers. He's just asking questions because he's curious. Varric just genuinely want to talk to me.

"Yes. A tragedy because it's so heartbreakingly real." I stated. Considering what I wanted to say next I decided to tell give my fellow author something else to think about.

"One of the lines resonates to me quite well," I sadly sniffed. It broke my heart just to say it. Why am I doing this?

"I cry myself to sleep knowing he loves me and I love him."

"But I know we cannot be."

"I stare at the train tracks waiting for him."

"A train passes and I see him getting off."

"But then he disappears the moment I blink."

"I know he's not there but my heart and eyes wish he was."

"No matter what happens I will love him."

"I cried myself to sleep that night professing the love that would never be meant to be."

"We were never meant to be."

"Such is life."

"Such a fool he's been."

"Such a fool I have to."

"I don't know what to say."

Varric grabbed my sword arm. "Okay kid. I can't say that I like all the baggage your giving me. But I'll do what I can. Come on. Keep talking to me. You need help. You need care. You need a lot of things. Just keep talking. It doesn't make things easier. I won't lie to you about that."

Varric however grabbed my arm, clasping it more tightly, "But at least it's out in the open."

"I miss her. Although I knew her for barely a month my life feels less full without her," I cried.

Why am I crying? By the blood I haven't cried like this in months. Is it because the shock is starting to wear off? Is it because I'm that tired? That I can't hold back the flood of emotion? Why am I crying? Is it this world? Am I homesick? Am I really that out of my league? I didn't cry when I killed those old gods? I didn't cry when I killed the blood-starved beast? So why am I crying now?

I feel a pair of arms wrapping themselves around me. It's not much but it reassures me, calming me down even more.

I continue my life story as I was held in place by Varric, "Certainly I can go on but it won't be as happy as it could have been had she been with me. Life's a tragedy. We breathe our first breath the moment we leave the wombs of our mothers. Every second is the tick of a clock. Every moment wasted not expressing who we are a moment that never can be found."

"Don't be afraid. Just tell me. Just keep talking. Just do it," Varric soothed as he patted my back.

He apparently had no trouble with this. Perhaps he had experience when he had dealt with his friends like this. Were they truly that traumatized as well? Were they that destroyed?

I'm breaking down. The more I talk to someone who I can know will listen means that the more I can express the more regret I have with entering this world. I feel so young again. I feel like a child once more.

"Such is life" I recited as I just stood there in the cold, mountain with Varric holding me.

 **Note:**

 **This Chapter serves a primary purpose it serves a reference to Cassandra's incompetence in interrogation. As you can see Varric is able to get much more information and better results than Cassandra ever could by simply being nice initially. It just doesn't work in this case. Assad is more than willing to fight back should you come with force initially. By wearing him down with non-threatening questions Varric does a very admirable job. It also helps that he has experience with this task which will be explored when we go into my Dragon Age 2 canon.**

 **I'm not say that torture and other rough interrogation methods might not work. However they have to be appropriately timed. In this case Cassandra shouldn't have opened up with saying "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you". She shouldn't have gotten violent or rough at the start. That only should occur if the person being interrogated doesn't co-operate initially or doesn't quite grasp the situation. Further-more she shouldn't have let her emotions cloud her judgment in the interrogation, such as when she violently assaulted Cyrus in the first place, similar to the player character. The interrogation should have been at least ten minutes long before moving towards violence and, I repeat, it should only be used when the target is not co-operating.**

 **In real life interrogations take hours and days of pain-staking effort and work. You can't just torture and be rough with someone and expect 100% co-operation. This will be pointed out at a later date in this story and one of my many critiques and criticisms about Bioware and fiction in general.**


	5. Chapter 4: Leliana and Roderick

**Darker than Truth, Stronger than Night, Blood is Thicker than Black**

 **Chapter 3: Leliana and Roderick**

 _Fear cannot govern a society Assad. A state run by fear is one which will collapse uponitself. Thus in order for a state to function, any organization, there must be something more. Something greater than an basic animalistic desire to live. Fear can take you so far, hope and rage, even further._

 _Anger is the ultimate tool of destruction. It is the significance of vengeance. But vengeance can lead to many eloquent ideas. Rage is a fire that someone nearly snuffed out._

 _A society based on fear is a society that will do the minimum necessary to not be destroyed or harassed. Societies like these have the idea of collapsing very quickly anyway. Thus whatever must be done, fear should be a by-product, not a component of the equation._

 _-The Interrogator_

"Does the truth hurt, Seeker?" questioned Solas as their group continued to walk up the mountain path.

Varric and Cyrus had been leading from the front taking demons out with some difficulty but not unfathomable ease. Both of there were getting tired though. Assad's own movements were initially stiff but as time passed on they were getting slower. While Cassandra and Solas certainly weren't as tired as Strife, they two were starting to feel the strain.

Strife was exhausted. Solas could understand that. Yet the man refused to give in. His fingers were clutching, his whole body seemingly straining under the weight of something and there was no doubt that he was malnourished. Nevertheless that didn't change the fact that the man was pushing through. Assad seemed to be refusing to give in.

Was this what it meant to not die?

Varric was also sweating, despite the sub-zero temperatures. His crossbow bolts were slowing down and the obvious sign of ragged breathing were there was well. In fact Cassandra and Solas were the two who were in the best shape altogether. The former because unlike, Varric and Assad, has been under a proper diet for the last few latter, because there was no mistreatment on the Chantry's part.

Further-more Varric and Cyrus were doing most of the heavy lifting and fighting. Sloughing through the snow Cassandra seemed to be doing the minimum necessary. She only got truly involved the fights when it seemed that one of them were about to die.

That was callous but understandable. Cassandra certainly didn't trust Varric and Assad. Both were technically her prisoners and perhaps in exhausting them, physically at least, Cassandra planned to make future interrogations easier.

It was a risky move in his opinion.

Cassandra needed both of them alive at the moment and eventually their fatigue would catch up with both of them.

"I do not understand," lied Cassandra.

Of course you don't considered Solas. You never stated you actually cared about people like us. Certainly you have acted upon your sense of justice but nothing more.

"I see." Answered Solas.

It was a sad fact that this world did not desire to see the lives of the people that just didn't want to be a part its conflict. People are people and it our desire to better ourselves which lead to our own destruction. It was a shame that many were too blinded by the fact that their own desires can be fulfilled by working together.

"Granted," thought Solas, "If we did so we would not be people. We would not have empathy without rationalization. Fear and loathing come part without a desire to advance. Envy was what drove us to become greater than what we can achieve. It is envy that destroys and creates society. Elves, humans and dwarves are merely the same to this constraint of society."

However Solas, opinion was increasing every moment he spent with Assad. Tired, angry and filled with self-loathing was starting to become the characters of Assad. Despite this, Strife seemed to continuing to march on. Against all pressure and all hope.

"Do we believe what we see or do we simply see what we want to?" questioned Assad turning to Varric. It was a loaded question but it seemed that a question about the deep topics was becoming the norm between the two of them.

Perhaps it was because it was the baggage both of them carried.

"Perhaps it is both," considered Varric, "We see what we need. Not what we want. We want to see what we desire but, in reality that's what we need for our own genuine comfort. Nothing more."

That was true in a way. Unless a situation warranted an immediate change in focus, people tended to ignore what they considered insignificant. This was despite the fact that the insignificant topic may become quite important further down the road.

"Then people can be so blind to what is right in front of them," contemplated Assad ", What they need as well."

It wasn't the end of their world but certainly the two of them were considering how to answer the question. When we're about to die anyway, why are we fighting?

"Okay don't go being all contemplative on me. Are you going to break-down again?" joked Varric. This was mainly done out of his desire to keep his own morale up.

"No," shook Strife ", I feel tired. I am feeling Soul-less if you could believe that."

With that one answer, any humour that could have broken the tension disappeared.

"I'm not a mind reader," answered Varric as the four of them kept trudging through the snow.

Cyrus was starting to feel like Fenris and Hawke to him. Both men were contemplative in their decisions. In fact Varric was starting to feel that Hawke and Assad would find themselves looking in a mirror should they encounter the other. Both seemed to have love for women who they knew were forbidden or taboo. Both were tired of the world. It was almost a sense of déjà vu.

"And you probably don't have to be," Shrugged Cyrus.

There it was again for Varric. Hawke would always say that to him after they talked about a deeply personal topic. Varric was incredible at his job but he was honestly starting to get surprised by how many secrets he was being entrusted with throughout his lifetime.

"I guess that's what happens when you have the most stable lifestyle of all your friends. You end up being the shoulder to cry on. You become the person to talk to" admitted Varric

"One day I guess I will tell you my entire story," confessed Strife.

Eventually the four of them finally reached the compound for the Chantry. A giant wooden door was all that stood between their current predicament and voluntarily going to the chantry.

Varric turned to Assad.

"Do you still want to talk?"

"Yes. I do. But not now," Strife nodded before explaining "I've spilled my heart out enough today. I've cried enough today. But I want to live past this day."

"You want to go back?" asked Solas, "To wherever you came from?"

"It's my life," stated Cyrus. Whoever wouldn't want to back to their life.

Cassandra motioned the three of them to the doors, "Come on, it's time to face reality."

The three of them paused for various reasons. Varric didn't want to be in Cassandra's presence longer than necessary. Solas, primarily because he still had some nugget of feeling that the chantry would attempt to capture him and tranquil him once the events passed. Cyrus on the other hand did not move before there just didn't seem to be a point. The rage in his soul had burnt himself out.

It had ignited, in his desire for petty revenge against his guards, and then relented into ash once he finally talked to someone. It was a small spill from the ocean that was what he was, but it wasn't enormous.

"So long as you're ready to do so along with me Cassandra," relented Cyrus as he nevertheless walked forward.

Varric and Solas soon followed.

"Very well. I can't say this won't end well," accepted Cassandra.

Cyrus Assad Strife, the name of the prisoner, shouldn't be here. Cassandra privately admitted that this was wrong on some level. However at the exact same time the equivalent could be stated for the prisoner himself.

He was petty, he was dangerous, he was also lost.

"I know," exhaled Cyrus

Cyrus Assad Strife was mortal.

As the doors opened Cassandra closed her eyes.

"Just so you know, this wasn't how I wanted it to go."

"Then you should have been more responsible," ignited Strife, "More competent."

Cassandra just ignored me. That statement had eroded whatever sympathy she had once had for the man once again. It seemed the more she learned about Cyrus Assad Strife the more Cassandra came to hate him as a person.

Yet he seemed just like that. A person.

"We are like birds in the wind," Assad looked up thoughtfully at the sky.

He had been very thoughtful for the past hour or so. Walking forward to his doom, snow touched and melted off his face. Strife was just lost now.

"May, life give you wings, to lift you from the chains that hold you down," he honestly hoped. Was it too much too hope?

It certainly seemed that way. While he no longer felt the slight sensations under his skin, from his former ailment it came at a cost.

He couldn't return home again.

"Perhaps," answered Solas as the three walked across the path, "I'm coming to the idea that you're not from this world. What do you miss the most?"

"I'm surprised that you're also being kind to me?" Cyrus replied looking at Solas.

"Doctor's guilt," replied Solas as he closed his eyes for a moment, "I guess I'm starting to feel guilty that I couldn't do more. In just a few minutes you've changed my opinions on what kind of person you are."

"That's true," sighed Assad.

Cyrus missed his parents. Assad missed his uncle and aunt. Strife missed his grandparents. Cyrus Assad Strife, missed most of his siblings. Altogether there was a lot he had lost in the world when he had entered this one. How do people deal with? Losing everyone who actually cared for them.

"I miss my family."

His life had been better than at least two thirds of the people in his world. He had two loving parents who wanted the best for him. Cyrus's own sisters loved him quite a bit. His younger sisters adored him, and he admired his oldest sibling, Maleny, who had just given birth to his first nephew. Although he certainly didn't miss his brother.

There was a lot missing from this world. The isolation, the fear of dying alone, the fear of a lack of love.

"Do we love those who stay with us because they love us?" he contemplated, "Or do we love those who need love?"

"Just a thought," smiled Varric.

There was so much wrong with this world.

"Seize this man!" screamed Roderick interrupting what little peace the three of them had once had. It seemed nothing lasts forever. For what had seemed like an eternity.

Now they were about to be rendered judgement. Strife waited for the chains to once again engulf him. Perhaps he would be tortured now.

"Ignore that order," brushed off Cassandra.

The guards seemed to be more interested in following her. That was a surprise for Cyrus. He looked around as the guards obeyed her without question. It was certainly are to see a woman's opinion and power outrank that of a man's.

How unusual.

"This man is responsible for the disaster occurring all around us. He's most likely the perpetrator of the destruction of the conclave," seemingly illuminated the cloaked man.

Cassandra growled righteously, "That is still being considered."

No matter how petty he was, the chantry did not information for the entire situation. If Strife was responsible and that was an enormous if, then Cassandra would strike him down in an instance. However it was becoming more apparent that Strife was innocent.

"As grand Chancellor of the Chantry I demand that you once again seize this man into custody!" shouted Roderick pointed to Cyrus.

The person in question gripped his torch tighter.

"This may become an issue," snipped Varric noticing the expression on Assad's face.

"Not unless they push it. Then our friend might decide to do something drastic," admitted Solas.

"See!" shouted Roderick, as if he had been proven by their comments alone.

"Don't you dare use such mannerisms in my presence," growled Cassandra as she stepped forward, "You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat."

It was certainly strange for Assad. Finally someone who he can relate to. Granted Strife had his fair share of fighting but this exactly what Assad had planned to do for the rest of his life. Be a bureaucrat, a surveyor, not some stupid thug with a sword. It was safer and paid better.

"And you are a thug. However it is because of such thuggery that seems useful to the Chantry," shot back Roderick.

Assad nodded instinctively. No matter how it is stated, force was always required for your convictions or institutions. Without force, order breaks down. Force has its uses.

"We serve the most holy," responded Leliana with a hint of sarcasm, "We both do."

She looked at Cassandra at the second statement, getting a slight nod in return.

"Justinia is dead! A new replacement must be elected. From there we must obey her orders," confessed the Chancellor loudly.

So their leader was dead and …

Wait … the leader of their organization is a woman? So a woman leads these people? No wonder they are so incompetent at their professions?

Electing someone is stupid. It gives the uneducated masses a way to confront and topple the fabric of the social institutions which they are governed and protected by. Further-more electing someone is not an appropriate course of action for an organization of such large scale. It would be impractical.

What is wrong with these people?

Was Justinia that old woman though? I can't really tell without getting a good description of her person. Perhaps she was, perhaps not. All I know is that that old woman and Justinia were important. Neither of which can be mutually exclusive.

Roderick balled his fists tightly.

"Call a retreat," miserably confessed the man as if the statement was incredibly painful for him to say.

"We can still fix this. We can stop the Breach." Explained Cassandra before turning to me distastefully for a moment.

So Cassandra was finally going to go through the deal.

"How? There's not enough soldiers for us to hold and attack the temple. You are likely to be killed in the process of doing so," explained Roderick.

"Our forces can charge," illuminated Cassandra, "Provide a means of us to directly stop this breach from spreading."

"It might be the quickest route," admitted Leliana as she looked at the map on the table, "But not the safest. Taking the mountain path will be easier and appropriate."

"Too risky. We lost an entire squad up there. And I don't trust the prisoner," Cassandra stated turning to me, "He's already attempted to escape on two occasions, very nearly succeeding. I cannot with good conscience leave him alone without a large group watching him."

Well you win some, you lose some, mentally added Assad. Personally she shouldn't have been surprised. Who wouldn't want to escape certain death? This wasn't a fucking story where the character blindly reacts to the situation presented to himself and ends up a motherfucking hero at the end of it.

This was real life and in real life people ran away from a situation they were certain they had no chance of winning.

"Shee means that she doesn't want to be betrayed," explained Solas, "Or because our dear friend her can stab her in the back."

Well that was blunt, in Strife's opinion. However it was completely true so he didn't really hold it against Solas

"Then why are you protecting him!" shouted Roderick before turning to me, "Why not just hand him over to the Chantry's forces while you charge?"

"Because she has a purpose for me," thought Cyrus ", She needs me alive. For now I am valuable. At a later date I will be tossed aside."

"Assad," enlightened Cassandra, using Strife's middle name for the first time, "can close the Breach."

"I sincerely doubt it," sceptically quelled Roderick.

"Even if he could," tilted Leliana, "We can't leave him to charge in those clothes."

She indicated to my hastily worn garments. While they were warm and quite suitable for the terrain, it was a miracle that there wasn't any damage on them. The four of us were lucky that we had not faced any resistance on our trek up the mountain. That seemed to be coming to an end however.

"No! I will not allow it," screamed Cassandra. Cassandra was certainly quite insistent on preventing any equipping of the prisoner.

"Because she might take revenge on you?" muttered Varric, "I wouldn't but I'm not a vindictive person."

That was certainly true for Varric. He didn't want to hurt people. There was no point in being malicious. However Strife certainly was a bit bloodthirsty.

"I've confiscated his weapons," explained Leliana to Varric and Solas, "They seem like they use gunpowder."

That answer surprised both Solas and Varric. Was gunpowder so rare in this world or were fire arms so restricted as it generally was in several isolated countries.

"So that man's a Qunari agent," injected Roderick ", perhaps you should head my suggestions once more Seeker. Leave him with us."

While that was logically, it would certainly serve my benefit. With my knife there was a chance that I could escape my captors. Strife was planning on doing so. However should his weapons be given to him, then there was a second option.

Shooting his way out.

"Once again," Cassandra barked", I do not trust him."

"Then we are at an impasse," I injected between Cassandra and Roderick, "You do not trust me enough to give me my weapons and all the tools at my disposable. But you need me to close the breach."

They needed Strife, Strife didn't need them.

"I can just cut off your left hand," shot back Cassandra.

Roderick's, Solas and Varric's eyes widened at the statement. However Cyrus had anticipated that comment.

Strife smirked displaying his left hand, "And risk the idea of losing what you can use? If I die, will the Key die with me."

A silence engulfed the six of us as Assad's indicated hand flashed green lightning occasionally. Solas snorted, the chantry hadn't expected someone to bargain. However Leliana broke the silence.

"I wouldn't give him his weapons," finally elected Leliana, "He can't be trusted. You were correct."

Perhaps pressuring Cyrus would prevent them from promising anything. They seemingly favoured an outcome without outright agreeing or stating it.

"That he may," snorted Roderick before glancing at Strife, "But you cannot deny that he's speaking the truth. We can't cut off his hand without risking losing our salvation. I elect for the most extreme options. Leave him here or send him out to do his jobs with all the tools at his disposal."

However Roderick didn't seem to understand the message Leliana was attempting to create. IT was a minor split but something which Strife could take advantage of.

"I second statement," Cyrus agreed.

I was starting to like this man. He was practical but completely underestimated the lengths Cyrus would be willing to go for his freedom. That is unless there was another reward which could be promised to make him cooperate further.

"Once again I will say it," repeated Cassandra, "No."

Roderick tensed up at her statement but stood his ground by maintaining eye contact. Cassandra returned her glare.

"Then we all die!" screamed Solas at the members of the Chantry, "Your caution and fears are warranted but if the Breach isn't closed we all will die. It's as simple as that."

"Solas is right," admitted Varric, "You want to stop the Breach. Then do it. Just do it. No more half measures."

Varric was correct. By not putting their resources and committing to one solution, would spell disaster for the inhabitants of Thedas.

"Go all the way or not at all," I reiterated.

Assad who readily dodged her fist that was aimed his way. Cassandra seethed once again. This time Leliana did not stop her or even try to make an indication of disapproval. She simply silently stared at Strife daring him. That didn't matter though.

"So be it," Gave in Cassandra.

"Give the man his weapons," ordered Cassandra to one of the guards before turning to Strife, "One step out of line and one of us will be a corpse on the ground."

Assad just nodded at Casandra waiting patiently. Eventually the guard returned with his black cloak, saw cleaver and Ludwig rifle. Mentally he grinned. He was soon coming to full capacity.

Without a single hint of shame, Assad gladly took off his clothes before dressing himself with his clothing. They had even been stitched back together and cleaned. How wonderful of these people he sarcastically admitted.

"Two meters under or above. That's what you are trying to say." I examined before smiling. He felt even more at peace now that he was fully secured and equipped as much as he could have.

It felt so nice to get his weapons back; so many options were no available to him. While the future may be difficult for him, there was no doubt that he was fully prepared to face it.

 _Young boy, like a cruel angel's thesis,_

 _Live up to be a legend..._

 _Even though clear blue winds_

 _Beat on the door of my heart,_

 _You just smile, looking straight at me_

 _Too involved in yearning for_

 _Something to hold on_

 _The innocent eyes still no nothing of fate yet._

 **Yep. Expect lots of instances of songs from the Evangelion soundtrack.**


	6. Chapter 5: Cullen and Cyrus

_**Chapter 5: Cullen and Cyrus**_

 _I heard all I needed_

 _Can't fight the signs_

 _Can taste the blood_

 _Can taste the lies_

 _I can see the sorrow._

 _I can see the light._

It felt so nice to have his tools back.

Karma.

Although he had spent two hours getting properly prepared, eating right, drinking properly and outright healing any damage to his body, it was well worth.

Karma.

With that one word, Assad felt back. He felt alive. A demon attempted to stab him with it's claws. That didn't matter though.

Karma.

Strife shot it with the rifle, knocking it back a few centimetres. It paused at the shock. Too late, for it, enough for him though. With the cleaver, Strife returned with a vicious slice which cut the neck off the demon in question.

The abomination screeched in pain for a few moments, causing all the other surrounding demons to glance at it in shock.

Once again it was too late.

Cyrus shot a leg of the nearest fear demon, making it scream in pain and surprise. Using that movement, he fluidly slashed the demon in well stretched arc. Black mist leaked of the insides of that demon as it futily attempted to stop the bleeding. Assad guessed they weren't so different from mortals after all.

They felt pain and pain meant they could die.

Using the momentum of is arcing slashed, Strife jumped into the air with his left foot and sent a roundhouse kick to the side of the demon's head. The foot forced the demon to bend down in pain and paralysis.

Perfect time for him to shoot it at point blank range.

What can you say? Killing these things was not impossible.

Power-chess was what described the fighting the four of us were trudging through. You slow down a little bit and you die. You make one wrong move and you die.

I side-stepped another demon that was trying to slash me.

Dying had never come easy for me. The pain of bleeding out, gasping for breath as your lungs fought furtively in vain. Your body tries to pump out energy but only pumps your life away. May I never feel the cold darkness encroaching in my mind as I lose a sense of feeling. The truth of the matter is that the last sense you lose is the sense of touch.

First you lose your vision as your mind shuts down and darkness overwhelms you.

Second you lose your sense of hearing as the blood quickly leaves your body. Your life force dwindles.

Third you lose your sense of smell. The sense of idea of where you are. Never had the smell of wood and lilies felt so phenomenal.

Fourth, you lose the sense of taste. But that is a welcome addition from the numbness and the shock you feel. Losing the sense means that you can no longer feel the saliva dribbling down your throat and your snot leaking from your nose.

Finally though, you lose the sense of touch and that is the most painful of all. Touch and feeling are miserable and it is something which you wish would disappear. The pain, the spurting of blood, the sense of the fruit flies and maggots crawling and flying onto you. The sense of touch was horrible and that was the worst of all.

The gods were truly unjust. They were unfair to all.

Ironically though you regained your senses in the opposite manner when someone revives you.

Kirsi's hand caressing my palm and holding me firmly, but gently, was the signal that I was still alive. It was the signal that I was still in this world. Her touch was cold but I knew that the pain and unnaturalness was worth feeling for.

The sense of taste returned a few moments after that, when she gave me the medicine necessary. The taste was always bitter and burning but it represented so much and was yet the opposite of what I felt.

The sense of smell, returned as well. Primarily it was the lack of smog, dust and blood. Kirsi always kept a neat household.

Oh good hunter. Hearing those words made me feel alive.

Then opening my eyes and seeing her face. Smiling down upon me, I always saw that beautiful face first. It was a symbol of why I was alive. What I meant to be. What I mean to be hear for.

She had done so much for me. The least I could do was not hurt her at all.

The four of us, kept moving, refusing to stop for an instant. Workhorses, were we. It was understandable however.

I had wasted a few hours eating and healing myself to the best of my ability. Apparently Solas was excellent at healing people. Nevertheless while it was possible to heal physical and magical injuries in a short period of time, long term problems such as malnutrition and exhaustion was much more difficult.

Resting for a few hours had steadied my body. For a few moments I wanted to go to sleep. Dousing off however had to wait until a later date. Forcing me to continue at this incensed pace I tackled a demon.

The creature screeched in surprise at the encounter, right before I drew my rifle and blew its head off.

That was if it actually could die.

Certainly it did here. I would need more information from the dwellers of this world.

Nevertheless I was getting more and more reckless as time passed. I was losing my concept of time.

That was bad because losing yourself to an experience can make you forget how long it has been.

That was dangerous. That was inappropriate and that was lacklustre.

Demons scurried and attempted to pounce on us throughout the valley. However between the four of us, we were a really balanced party. Solas provided ample protection to the three of us.

Varric attacked from a distance with his crossbow. It was something I had also initially done right before I charged.

If anything Yharnam had taught me that you must always be moving forward towards your opponents. Reducing the distance was paramount. Be patient but not inactive. Failure to do so will cause a quick death.

Cassandra and I had come to each other's rescue quite easily. My saw cleaver was a fast but long interval led

Strike that did immense damage to these demons infrequently, while Cassandra was certainly capable of taking hits and constantly countering their attacks.

She could afford to get hit with her armour.

I could not.

I checked my Ludwig rifle.

Zero bullets.

Apparently I had wasted it on all the Demons throughout the valley with no end of them in sight. Roderick had been correct. Even with our best efforts there was just too many.

Between the four of us we had certainly clutched the lives of nearly forty demons. And it was exhausting.

The soldiers were fighting with us, certainly. In fact they were doing the bulk of the work. Something which I would have greatly preferred over my current predicament. However Cassandra was a front line leader and was the person with the greatest Authority in the entire Mountain. At least to the best of my knowledge.

As a result the four of us were fighting through the most gruelling, instances of violence I had ever seen. Varric seemed quite fine with it, Solas not so much. Personally this was becoming too chaotic for me. Preferable I would have done a slow, battle of grinding attrition, while attacking weak points of this rift.

However that was not the case.

Cassandra was being stupid. I could especially see it in the soldiers. While they certainly were willing to continue fighting, this forced frenzy of carnage, with little rest was making it exhausting.

It was making me tired as well. Paradoxically I was the least tired out of the four of us, presumably because this was something I was used to doing in Yharnam.

Nevertheless blood and sweat was still pouring down my forehead. My hair was sweaty and my clothes stunk of dirt, ash and unknown demonic substances. For whatever reason though, this wasn't stopping me.

This was a fool's goal. Cassandra should have listened to Roderick. The most logical action would have been to abandon the valley, surround the countryside and wait for reinforcements. Doing such a blitzkrieg attack with little support was certainly going to guarantee casualties and resentment. It was a high risk, high reward tactic. It was something that should be only used as a last resort.

Was Cassandra truly that desperate?

I kept gripping the cleaver as the four of us continued dashing forward with the others, the soldiers soon following us.

Yes. Cassandra was that desperate.

Varric gasped is crossbow in his sweaty hands, "This is unbelievable."

I merely nodded in return. Varric was suffering the most out of the four of us. Presumably because he was a Dwarf. Those short legs were an issue in times like this. Why would a creature like a dwarf even exist in the first place?

"I believe I've run more in the last year, than I have for the rest of my short magical life," agreed Solas, "The War has been brutal for everyone."

That was strange. What was Solas talking about? I might need to get more information later.

Cold wind gathered around us, covering the area with another area of frost. Although quite visible for now, I had not doubts that it would soon become more difficult to fight the demons by nightfall or when we finally did lose all forms of vision. That was quite possible. Long exposures to these monsters were going to wreak havoc on this world. None of my companions and allies had properly explained the situation to me while I was resting. In fact I didn't really want to listen to their discussions because I had still been so tired, thirsty and sore.

Once this situation had died down, I would consider my options. After perusing all the information necessary.

Sometimes.

This world was much more different to the one I had left. It was certainly more progressive and ... regressive from the world I had just arrived from. Bolton was the second largest city in the country, from which I had lived it. Fact of the matter was, we were still discussing whether or not women deserved the right to vote. Can't say I blame those in power for saying no.

I could understand their points. Women didn't serve in the military, they didn't die for the country and they certainly never made up a large part of the work force of Koel Jomet; my country. Fact of the matter was a lot of countries still considered women to not be part of the global workforce. They're job was to be housewives, mothers, and altogether raising the next generation.

That was something I believed in. However there was nothing that should prevent them from influencing the decision making of the country. Women were rising the next generation. They deserve to have a say in how the country their children was coming into, was run. But that was the only reason.

Child-rearing and education. Feminist was key. Oh sure, they deserved to be as much a part of the workforce, but that was secondary to raising children.

This whole situation was bizarre. Here I was, being lead by woman, after the head of this organization, another woman, had been killed. Were they not worried about the destruction of society? Were they so callous to throw away what the gods and almighty beings had given them to do? Were the women of this world willing to throw away their purpose?

It seemed unfathomable to me. They should be home, raising children. They shouldn't be fighting and dying here. Warfare was dangerous enough as it was with only men involved. IT would be even more horrible for women should they join.

Commanders of the fields would be worried about rape, sexist violence and a general disregard for orders should women. What kind of man could live with himself if he let one of his sisters' die on a battlefield after getting raped?

It would be disastrous. Not only that but much more.

Nevertheless we trekked on. No one seemed to care about this issue for the time being. No one at all.

What was wrong with these people?

Silently, I continued following Cassandra, considering my thoughts once again. There were numerous problems with this issue and none of them were being addressed. I needed more information before I can press for a conclusion to this issue.

Eventually our group met with another cable of soldiers. This time the assembly of soldiers was led by a man. Feeling relieved, I slowed down with Cassandra, catching my breath. She must have recognized the person leading them, otherwise there is no doubt that she would have continued along this ill-fated expedition.

Someone important.

"Cullen," greeted Cassandra, "It's good to see you alive."

"Not without your favour," shot back Cullen, "Where have you been Cassandra? We've been stuck between different groups of demons for hours."

"Something you didn't realize," I thought.

"The Prisoner took his time getting ready," explained Cassandra, "The delay was not within my boundary of control."

"You should have arrived earlier," growled Cullen, "I've already lost three quarters of my men."

"Reinforcements are here," elaborated Cassandra, "You're out of line Cullen."

Cullen stood still at the comment before sighing and dropping his head. The man looked haggard and defeated. I couldn't blame him. Seeing the assembly of bleeding, and exhausted soldiers behind him. It demonstrated great leadership among the part of him, for at least keeping some of them alive for the time being.

At least four of the assembly were missing limbs; two had puncture wounds around their stomachs and the rest looked haggard from scratches, dirt and general sweat. One of the soldiers slumped over in exhaustion, before trying to right him up again. Unfortunately it served no purpose as resistance was futile. He rendered himself unconscious in the process. Whether from shock or exhaustion, I do not know.

Cullen must have noticed my gaze because he dashed over to the fallen person and checked their pulse. Sighing in relief he turned to Cassandra.

"I'm sorry Seeker but I can't be of any help. My soldiers are too exhausted," he admitted sadly.

Cassandra simply nodded, "There's the path we came from just now. It should be clear."

"I'll get them out of this carnage," agreed Cullen, "I hope you have a solution to this Cassandra. We'll need it."

"We already do," illuminated Cassandra as she pointed at me.

"Well I hope it works," shrugged Cullen ", Explain to me after we've finished everything. The way to the temple is clear. Leliana will try to meet you there by then."

Fine leadership right there. My opinion on the man was improved when I witnessed him carrying another injured person as the assembly left. Cullen clearly was a person who doesn't care about rank when it matters the most.

"Our path is clear," beckoned Cassandra, "Maker watch over us all."

We watched over the group leaving, making sure none of the injured were suddenly attacked. It was the very least we could do for them, especially considering the situation.

I needed more silver bullets. Silver; fuck. Even in Yharnam, Silver was hard to come by. That's including when I was robbing the abandoned homes of rich and middle class people. Melting the silver and turning them into bullets were a pain, but it was something I was grateful for. Those Bath Messengers were incredibly handy. So long as you gave them a simply but relatively safe task, such as bread-making or polishing they were wonderful workers.

Automating them to tasks such as silver forging was a whole other matter. It required exclusive knowledge on blacksmithing, which I didn't have. Further-more it required me to kidnap a blacksmith that was still alive in that blood-forsaken city. Thankfully it hadn't been a problem. The Chapel man was capable of finding someone who was good at forging. That solved my silver issue in Yharnam.

It was still a major issue even then. Silver was excellent in fighting those monsters and beasts that preyed upon the inhabitants. The problem was the fact that Silver was rare and expensive.

No other material I had seen was capable of killing beasts and men, for some reason, with such efficiency. However my silver stock was always limited. Twenty or thirty bullets had been the maximum I had been able to carry at any time. As a result throughout my journey through that Nightmare, I had been very cautious in my fighting. Every move I made had been slow, or methodological. Certainly when I engaged another creature, I reacted and acted fast.

My issue here is that I am not given the time to consider avenues of approach. Cassandra and these soldiers are pushing forward at a breath-neck pace and that's forcing me to use my gun far more than I would have liked.

I cleaved another demon, fear I believe, as I continued to fight with Solas.

Stocking up on silver was going to be a massive issue in the future. Every bullet I shot cost me 100 grams of Silver. It was impractical in such combat like this. Fast-paced. I growled internally at my frustration.

Everything was outside of my control.

I raised my hand once again at another breach that was right in front of us. Was my rifle shook in my hand, the green lighting vibrated over the clear sky? The breach rippled and flashed multiple times, sending a burning sensation into my arm. Acid like in feeling, I nevertheless held my position.

Eventually my mark won out and collapsed the breach with it.

"Sealed another breach I see," nodded Solas approvingly.

I answered, "This mark may be useful. However I still need to investigate its side-effects."

Rubbing my hand from the sensation, sent a comforting feeling through my body and my mind. The painful feeling of using the mark was starting to seem much less then when I first got it. Perhaps this was my body adapting towards its use, or maybe because the mark isn't meant to kill me at all.

"I can agree with that. Failing to do so will certainly result in you suffering. Best to know the drawbacks", agreed Varric as he turned to Cassandra.

Cassandra in turn just ignored Varric's comments. What a cunt. That didn't matter to me however. Moving through the temple, I couldn't help but admit that the art was rather unique. The temple and the building however were rather general as stone structures came along. I believe this world had better engineering abilities and knowledge than the medieval period in my World. Most likely this was because of their magic.

Before the events of Yharnam, there weren't any hints of magic in my world. I preferred it that way. Sure we had folk stories and myths but that was similar to the carp that pushed itself up a waterfall and became a dragon.

Myths to teach children lessons. Not actual events.

"Maker you're finally here," gasped Leliana in relief from behind us.

She was surrounded by group of other soldiers and was carrying a bow. In the appropriate manner might I say?

"We came as soon as we could," explained Cassandra.

The soldiers surrounding us were much happier however. With the reinforcements linking up, they finally believed that there was way to end this nightmare. Or at the very least, it was nice to see their attractive leader.

Personally I didn't have any issues with Leliana. Her actions and statements were quite professional and well-thought out.

"What about you Assad?" questioned Leliana as she turned to me.

Now that was a surprise. I wasn't expecting the woman to show concern for my well-being, given that she allowed Cassandra to abuse me quite greatly. I was also under no assumptions that the soldiers that I was fighting with would turn on me at any given moment. Without a shadow of a hesitation, it was primarily because of the death of their "Divine".

"Doing as well as I could have hoped," I sweltered.

It was nice that Leliana was showing some form of courtesy to me, albeit a bit of an empty gesture.

"I have something for you," Leliana beckoned though.

What could Leliana possibly have for me though? A potion? A magical ointment or charm? Mentally I felt befuddled with myself. The very way I was finding myself accepting the magic of this world was profound. Something was certainly wrong. Mentally I needed to become more aware of my changing situation. My curiosity still remained however. What could Leliana provide for me?

Silver Bullets.

I must have been gaping in shock at her gift otherwise …

"It might not be what your gun needs but it should work," she explained, "I don't have exceptional knowledge on fire-arms so I apologize in advance. This was also all I could scavenge from out supplies."

It was touching though. Leliana certainly was trying to win my approval, which I admit was done in the appropriate manner. Entrusting me with more bullets showed that, while she didn't trust me completely, Leliana wanted to have a stable working relationship between the two of us. How odd, especially considering the previous conflict an hour ago.

"Thank you. I had run out of my bullets."

I acquired the bullets from her hands, noting that they were the same length and about the same weight as the ones I had just used on my trip.

"I'll have to shoot to see if they work however," sheepishly admitted Assad.

Cassandra just frowned at my answer however before gravely staring at Leliana. No doubt this was going to make her job harder.

Leliana remarked, "Go on."

Now I as suspicious however. If these bullets were the wrong size or the wrong weight my gun would almost certainly jam permanently or splinter into various pieces from the force. Furthermore, should they not be appropriately made, my very gun will stop working altogether.

I shot in the air creating a loud bang that echoed through the valley causing everyone in Leliana's group to gap in surprise. I just hope no demons were around. Everyone who was with Cassandra's group was already used to my gunshots.

The bullets work miraculously.

"Okay I now have nine bullets," I sighed although I was internally glad that the likely and more horrible outcomes didn't come to pass, "Thank you once again. I will try to make them count."

Apprehensively, Leliana nodded. No doubt her ears were ring slightly. The same could be said about me. Hearing loss was a minor issue when using guns but it was an issue nonetheless. Earplugs would have to be considered in the future.

"Don't waste our good will," Cassandra interrupted as she grabbed my collar, "This is your chance to prove yourself."

Slamming the butt of my gun into Cassandra's gut I stepped away from her.

"I don't have anything to prove. There's nothing that I have that makes me part of this issue," I growled.

The soldiers were now pulling out their weapons against me. Just as I suspected. Varric and Solas step aside. No doubt they were both more worried about their personal safety. I can't begrudge them for that. They've only known me for four hours at the maximum. That certainly wasn't enough time to fight and die for someone. Even if I was innocent, their own lives took precedent over mine.

"Be that as it may," Cassandra snorted, confident at the way things are going. Leliana once again looked disapproving at the situation.

"Someone helps me!" screamed the old woman from the Rift interrupting the stand-off between the groups.

My figure appeared along the breach. It's was in the form of ash and smoke. Nevertheless it was certainly very clear. The Divine kept beckoning me towards her before switching back to screaming. The image of Justinia screaming for help played back into a loop with the events altering between my mountain climb up the hill and Justinia's pleading as she was being crucified by magic.

For a few moments no one said a word as we watched the image repeat itself multiple times.

"That was the most holy. She called out to you!" exclaimed Cassandra breaking the silence.

The soldiers were now unsure about what to do. While a few minutes ago, many of them would have certainly gone for my head, this was no longer the case.

"No she didn't," I refuted despite my situation. Lying had its uses but that didn't change the fact that I didn't know the limits of how "magic" worked in this world. Lying and being found out would only make my future punishment more severe. The truth, whether they like it or not, would have to be accepted.

I stated clearly ", She simply called out to anyone who would have helped her against whatever was attacking her at the time."

One of the soldiers yelled over the crowd, "But she called out."

Turning my gaze towards the soldiers I once again stared them down. In the meantime I kept searching for where the voice had come from. When no one stepped forward, I saw no way around the issue.

"And I didn't care," I repeated knowing I was riling them up before turning to Cassandra, "And neither did you when I attempted to explain my story."

"Then what is your story?" harked Cassandra.

Despite my rage slowly devouring me, I promised not to lose control. If I wanted to torture or kill Cassandra a plan would have to be created.

"That I'm not from this world," I coldly elaborated, "This isn't my fight. This is my country. This isn't my job."

Would I have to shoot my way out of here? That seemed like a likely possibility. With my gun I could kill ten, maybe eleven of these people before I'm overwhelmed. It should be enough time for me to escape. The issue was Leliana probably knew this as well and took counter measures.

I wouldn't have been surprised if Leliana had a whole stock of silver Bullets in the armoury. Quite likely she would have simply taken only ten and left the rest until we got back. Further-more while I was certain that my bullets would puncture normal metal, I was less so, about the armour Cassandra wore.

"STOP!" yelled Leliana coming between the two of us.

Her scrawling expression was insignificant towards my disposition. However it certainly kept Cassandra at bay. In hopes of finding a solution I personally decided to let her speak.

"Enough," She gestured putting her hands to her sides, "I am tired of the two of you bickering like children. Enough is enough! You!"

She pointed at me with her index finger.

"Do what we tell you or I will make it certain that we're hanging from a noose. It wouldn't be the first time innocents were caught and killed by our forces and it won't be the last" growled Leliana.

Right before turning to Cassandra.

"And you!" she roared, "Do you job! You're a disgrace Cassandra. Ever since this entire war has started you have failed at every outcome, without the assistance of another person whether it is me, Cullen or the Most holy herself!"

So Cassandra was truly a failure. What a pleasant surprise. Although Leliana's words did demonstrate and prove my initial beliefs. There was a war going on and it had been occurring for quite some time.

"You're both horrible. At least admit it and try to get along," ordered Leliana.

Nothing. Not a word. Not a statement. Neither Cassandra nor I were willing to ever consider admitting or apologizing to each other. From the little time we had spent with each other, our views had clashed significantly. Gender politics, a lack of respect of said institutions and the way we behaved had already spoiled any decent working relationship we would have ever had.

It would have disastrous consequences much later.

Leliana must have realized that neither of us was going to give ground on this issue. That had been a bit foolish of her but understandable. She was a woman in an incredibly stress out situation. Her leader was dead and, from what I believe, her most trusted advisors and equals were rebelling against her for multiple reasons.

"Nothing," Leliana bitterly growled, "So be it. Solas what do we need to do?"

Solas examined the large breach, casting various spells from his staff. The language he spoke it in was something I had no knowledge of. On the other hand, Leliana must have recognized some of the words because her expression simply hardened.

"Stand back," he warned.

A blast of green light erupted from Solas staff. The light streaked towards the breach slamming violently into the funnel. A smaller light however returned from the location of which the two forces of magic had collided. This time it streaked slightly over our heads before streaking across the night sky.

"I believe that the rift can acts like a door way. Should we open it, we can smash it close again and lock it away permanently," suggested Solas after his examination.

For some reason I felt my nose sigh,

"Is there no other way," scowled Leliana at the thought.

What did that mean though? Were we about to face a greater amount of demons?

"None that I can think of. There might be other methods or actions we can take but without the appropriate time, it would be next to impossible for me to find another solution," sadly admitted Solas, no doubt understanding what he implication meant.

My fears were confirmed. More demons and I were low on silver bullets. Taking appropriate positions at chokepoints would not be the appropriate course of action in this case. I had to be near the breach in order to destroy it.

Trusting myself to people that wanted me dead.

"Fuck!" summed up Varric.

"All fighters," screamed Leliana ", Get to your stationary points. Prepare for extremely heavy combat."

Her orders were followed without issue. I was honestly surprised by how racially diverse the humans were. What a fine group of characters.

Blacks and whites manned the appropriate locations around the edge of the temple. Archers, pikemen and swordsmen took various positions in a manner of sorts.

"I hope you know what you are doing," septicized Cassandra as she looked at Solas.

Solas merely nodded", So do I."

"Then let's do it," I answered understanding my role in all this.

I attempted to close the rift. My arm vibrated from the energy that was being channelled through my body and into the rift and back. Green light danced and sparked, colliding and flashing with itself and the reality of this world. Pain seared through my arm, boiling its veins and pulverizing the bones to ash.

I held on throughout it though.

An explosion of light erupted from the breach blinding all of us for moment. I turned away to prevent further vision loss. The ground quaked and I turned towards the breach. Something had found itself between the breach and I.

A giant purple abomination.

Fuck!

 **Thank you for waiting. Also don't be afraid to check out my forum. There you can talk about it with other people.**


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